I'll Be Alright
by IceFemme
Summary: After Lucifer gets arrested, rebellious Castiel Novak is tossed to his very religious brother Michael. Forced to attend a new high school with all sorts of difficulty and adjust to his brother's lifestyle, Castiel feels anywhere but at home. His problems are piling up and his friend Sam's brooding older brother that makes Castiel want to rip his hair out is not helping. Explicit!
1. Peace Out, Thundercunt

hey guys! long time no post—sorry, sorry, sorry! Just a reminder that I _have _been posting on my tumblr & my ao3, so go check that good stuff out.

also a disclaimer—this here that I'm writing is _definitely _new to me. please be constructive and show your support! **Warning** that there is a lot of swearing & references to drugs in this chapter. this is a **WIP**!

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Everything I ever had—everything I could have ever wanted or been excited about in my life—it was all ripped out from under me. I felt cold although I was in a cocoon of lavender scented blankets. My body was shivering and I couldn't seem to get the blood to flow correctly to my toes or my fingers.

I was more furious than I believed I had ever felt in my entire life. I can't remember a time where I felt this incredible medium between _so _crestfallen and at the same time so enraged that I felt like I was incapable of returning from my anger. My life had almost completely become somewhat of a crude joke over the course of just twenty-four hours.

I guess that my brother Michael and I had never really been that close. Yeah, you could say that.

I didn't get a wink of sleep the prior night. And now, at four thirty two am, as I'm laying in my new bed, a tangle of comforter, blankets, and pillows galore, I can't find it in me to close my eyes for more than four minutes what with all the millions of thoughts floating around in my head. I felt empty, so blatantly empty, as if I had just spewed everything I owned all over the floor, or maybe on that plane. I couldn't help but find myself remembering that song that Lucifer used to play for me when I was trying to fall asleep on really rainy nights. My eyes would drift over to the slightly cracked open window beside my bed and push the curtains to the side and watch as cars still drove by our apartment at such a late time at night. The song was called _Big Yellow Taxi _by an old band called Counting Crows. I could hear it reverberating in my ears, and I was now singing it in my head exactly how the male lead singer had sang it.

And I was really close with Lucifer. We were brothers—what can I say. I was the youngest of three—Michael, Lucifer, then me. Michael was the oldest and possibly most sensible at troubled times, but he was also a religious maniac and that didn't go smoothly with our atheist brother Lucifer.

I had always gone to Lucifer when I was having troubles with Michael, and we had agreed that he was an obnoxious bop, and when Lucifer and I grew up we would live together where Michael would never know so that he could never boss us around anymore.

After the tragedy of the year struck and our parents had died back when the five of us lived in Russia, when I was barely eight and my brothers eighteen and nineteen, the three of us fled our homeland and Lucifer was finally my guardian.

Although it wasn't like Michael didn't want the custody of me, or anything; he was just in a rough spot in his life. He had little to no money, working job after job and was in his freshman year of college at Harvard. We weren't even in the same state. He didn't exactly have the time or mind to look after a trouble causing little brother like me anyway. So he didn't argue with Lucifer. He made sure to make regular check ins on us, and of course graciously wired us money whenever he could as Lucifer had directly chosen to not go to college and instead work two jobs, one at an ice cream parlor (in which I had helped influence) and the other at nights at a club where he worked as a bartender.

I was just starting middle school when Lucifer and I had finally settled in in Florida. I had no parents, but I had two older brothers who loved me and would hold me when the racking of my body had become too much and my crying would become out of control. It would make me feel like I wasn't the only one feeling such sorrow, as my brothers weren't very open with their emotions. Sixth grade I hit puberty and a strong wave of courage influenced me so I decided I was going to be a man and not cry about it any longer because I honestly felt pretty lame about spending two full months of ditching school and moping around the house while Lucifer was out at work.

It was early high school, though, when I recognized other boys in such a fashion that I found myself extremely attracted to. It didn't mean too much to me at that time, because I had been with girls before and I just suspected I was the tiniest bit bi-curious. It was never like I was disgusted with myself for jerking off to the image of a tall, thick man pounding his thick and sticky red cock down my throat.

Spring of my freshman year, I truthfully found myself so strangely attracted to the Scottish boy who liked to dress darkly—the one whose body was adorned in tattoos and cigarettes littered his locker and the floor around it. He was dark haired with light brown eyes and a usual shadow growing on his cheeks in the mornings. I could hardly find it in me to look away most of the time, but I had always been one who stares too much.

He was called Crowley. Just Crowley. No last name, there was no other alias. And he was cool, I thought, and I really, _really_ liked him; I wanted to learn all there was to him. In two short years, I was finally a junior and mad in love with this boy called Crowley.

We had always been together, and people around the school had seemed to notice, but what with both our dark exteriors and bad reputations, others didn't care to protrude on our relationship. Besides, it wasn't like your typical high school where half the population was made up of douchebag homophobic jocks. And I never really could exactly explain my situation with Crowley to my brother Lucifer, but he gladly turned a blind eye or left all together when I would bring Crowley over and blast loud music in my room.

So why was the Orlando infamous Castiel Novak here right now? And by here, you know, meaning Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in a large mansion currently owned by my older brother Michael Novak and his current girlfriend Hester. Truthfully, I actually liked the town. I'd been here before, too, many times with Luce to visit. But it wasn't my home. Although I wasn't born in America, Florida had become my home in eight short years, and I felt my heart throbbing in my chest when I recalled I wasn't on Florida soil any longer.

I had been classically caught up. Caught red-handed. Caught in the act. Whatever you want to call it. Michael hadn't notified anyone he was coming—not even Hester—to Florida. My oldest brother seemed to think he could pull what our late aunt Naomi would do and pop in at the most random time (after our parents died she felt it was somehow her duty, but it was _very _unappreciated.) It had never seemed to have been a problem as most of the time he came when Lucifer and I would already be asleep, so he would make himself a cup of coffee and wait till we would wake up the next morning, generally scaring the shit out of me.

But then there I was, and I could remember the moment clearly although I was so up in the clouds high. Lucifer and I were on the couch playing some Super Mario game on the Xbox. There was a joint in my hand and a little packet of cocaine laid out on the table. We had clearly been drinking as the fume of alcohol made the whole room reek along with the marijuana.

And then, enter Michael, who walked into the room (the fucker had somehow copied our key a while back and had neglected to notify Luce or me) engulfed suddenly in a huge puff of marijuana air, and started coughing profusely, drawing both of our attention towards him. My brother and I nearly jumped out of our skin when we turned to look at the intruder.

"Oh, what the fuck!?" I screamed, tossing my controller into the air in total and complete shock. Luce jumped out of his seat, his eyes bulging and looking about ready to fight a black bear. The room was hotboxed (much to the neighbor's continual annoyance) so it was definitely a little hazy to see the figure, but we were both in action at once.

"L—Lucifer? Castiel? Is this _marijuana _I'm smelling?"

There was absolute dead silence and I felt my eyes pricking. My heart was beating rapidly, and I knew this was the beginning of the end. It was the equivalent to the calm before the storm. And it was coming. _Oh shitfuckdamn. _He was actually here, staring at the two of us. Luce groaned when he saw that it was his older brother and clasped a hand over his face. "You've _got_ to be shitting me," he moaned. A long pause ensued after that and it was almost a minute long, but to me it felt like just two seconds.

I tried not to smirk as I spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Not one of my finer responses, I know. My voice was cold and low and gravelly, mainly due to the fact that my throat felt so hot from drinking and so numb from smoking. There was practically no feeling there at all now. Often I found myself opening my mouth but not making any noise when I tried to speak. Lucifer stood next to me and started chuckling, uncrossed one taut arm and knocked me on the side with it as if congratulating me on a good save.

And unfortunately, it had all just gone down hill from there. Michael had no mind to crack open a window; marijuana was illegal after all and he didn't want the attention of the neighbors for them to cat on all of us. Instead, he thudded his no doubt expensive leather shoes over to where I stood and landed a cold smack square on my mouth and then profusely grappled for my arm

I hissed and screamed and threw whatever I could find in my reach at my definitely stronger brother. Lucifer jumped into action and ripped Michael off of me, throwing a punch at our older brother's stomach, Lucifer seemed more than five inches taller than him and scooped me with my red face up into his arms and shielded my smaller body with his own. Lucifer was nothing if not cold and calculating, but I honestly believed that nothing came before me on his list. Luce kicked Michael swiftly in the balls and I think I would like to say that he took care of the situation with someone of grace.

I was set down when Michael marched into the other room, digging into his pocket and revealing a slim black phone and lifting it to his ear. Lucifer smelled trouble and followed after him, believing the fight had been diffused, but paused when he only tapped the screen three times. There was absolutely nothing Lucifer or I could have done before he heard the sirens blaring in the distance.

So long story short, Lucifer was arrested. Feds had found other drugs in the apartment—some mine that I had sneakily hid in crevices of the place just so that the dumb cops wouldn't be able to see. Clearly I hadn't outdone myself. But nevertheless, Lucifer took the fall for me and I would forever be grateful and look up to him for that. Mike now had fill custody of me, his little snot nosed brother. I was to return with him to Baton Rouge, Louisiana with him that night at twelve fifty. We arrived shortly where I had spent one or two summers, but it seemed like right out of a magazine. It felt foreign. I cried.

And now, almost an hour had gone by as I laid in bed with the blankets half covering my body, my naked torso visible. So at five am, when Michael decided to show himself in my new bullshit expansive Pottery Barn navy blue room that just smelled plain and simple like _money_, I felt ready to speak to the monster.

He was going to speak Russian. "Castiel, good morning. _Dobroye Utro_."

But I wasn't going to respond to that. Why did he feel like he needed to speak another language to me? I nestled into my bed now, feeling a little bit annoyed and feeling completely okay with going back on what I said about speaking to him.

"I'll speak English with you if you want to talk," I replied, no Russian accent laced anywhere. I felt like the sudden lull to go to sleep finally was coming to me. I pretended like I couldn't hear him when he said my name.

"I warn you, Castiel, if you act like a child, I shall treat you like a child."

I didn't respond at first. I just shut my eyes tighter, clenching my teeth, consciously ignoring my brother.

A sudden, annoying quip was spewing from my lips. "Do it. I bet you'll get some sort of perverse thrill out of it."

Michael seemed to be murmuring prayers in Russian now, as if to calm himself down. Wow, he was more of a religious fuck than I remembered. But I could tell the chants weren't working.

"I can assure you there will be school for you to attend. I have enrolled you in the local High School." He wrinkled his nose primitively. "Private School, unfortunately, is out of the option since I would have to go out of my way to drive you over an hour away and I couldn't trust you with a car."

Gee, _thanks bro_.

"Hester and I have work, so you will stay here in the premises of my home. I would like you to understand that if one door is opened, an alarm will go off and the police and I will be notified." He was doing a good job keeping the Mafia Boss _do wrong by me and I can guarantee you will wake up with no legs and a dead wife_ shtick up.

"I want verbal confirmation, Castiel. Speak or there will be punishments."

"Yeah, I'll play Rapunzel all day," I rudely snarked back in Russian. I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers over my eyelids. I stretched out my arm in the bed and detected a barely noticeable, but definitely there gasp from my brother.

"What in God's name is that?" Michael was all but screaming now. His eyes seemed to turn completely opaque black and he was close to seething. He looked angry enough to snap me in half.

I looked back down. I knew directly where Michael's eyes were aimed at—the back of my biceps.

_Fuck me,_ I thought to myself.

"Tattoos are _sins_!" Michael went of on a crazy, rapidly speaking tangent in Russia about how I was virtually un-savable now. "You are _lost_!"

The upper portion of my back was taken up by a beautifully crafted depiction of long, pale, feathered wings. It was gorgeous, in Lucifer's opinion. I love them more than anything else I own, and sometimes I feel like they made my back feel lighter, as if the wings were real and somehow attached to my body.

They were long, however, and the bulk was on my shoulder blades, and the long angelic feathers stretched down to my elbows over the back of my biceps. They were a guilty pleasure, and completely free. Crowley had created them for me.

I fell asleep finally to the loud mumbling coming from my older brother in our native tongue.

x**X**x

I was awake at four in the afternoon. I was proud of myself for making up for all that missed sleep, and hoped to whatever god there was that I would be able to find sleep again later tonight.

I sat up and got out of bed finally. I remembered yanking down all of my clothes, leaving only my tight charcoal briefs on. I scratched my back, right where my wings were, and remembered Michael saying he would be out with Hester for the day.

Leaving the room, I saw a long corridor that I didn't remember from last night. There was the lazy afternoon sun streaming in from some of the windows that littered the house. Or, you know, mansion. The place was fucking huge. I found myself walking down two staircases and then into a main plaza where the front door was. I couldn't stop myself from looking at the double doors longingly, wishing desperately I could just run through them without alerting the cops and my brother.

I settled on plopping down onto an extremely expensive looking black leather couch and felt around for the remote that went with the flat-screen. A sudden thought occurred to me and I momentarily wondered if it would make him feel like he was getting back at Mike for being such a douche and take a piss on the couch…

I didn't have it in me at the moment, I realized as I grabbed the remote and pressed the big red ON button. The TV made some weird beeping noise and then it switched on. Automatically, it went from some cartoon straight to a different channel, a… Was this a _Christian channel_?

"_Ew_!" I couldn't help but holler, laughing, and pressing the up channel button. The screen didn't change. There was no guide either. My expression changed from comical to completely enraged in one second.

But—! I just saw The Simpsons on the screen ten seconds ago! Why wasn't the TV letting me…?

"Did he fuckin' put some sort of lock on this?" I asked aloud.

I turned the TV off and got up from the couch in a huff. "Fucking Michael," I murmured to myself. I walked around the house a little longer before I found the dinning room, and through another doorway led me into the enormous gourmet-looking kitchen that appeared as if it belonged to some five-star chef, not Michael. Not my lowlife brother.

The fridge, you ask?

Salad.

Freezer? Some Fudgesicles and, oh Jesus in Heaven what is this—_bacon_? I squealed in delight as I pulled it from the icy depths of the Megatron like freezer and brought it with me over to the stove. I found the pans easily and the bacon thawed a little before I began to cook it. One thing you want to know about me is I fucking love cooking. All the more better when it's for me. In no time, it smelled delicious and my mouth was watering like a fucking swimming pool. I lifted it out of the pan with a fork and onto a plate with two paper towels. It was a miracle my shirtless chest was left completely clean what with the flying bacon grease everywhere.

Completely engrossed in the idea of sitting down to eat this delicious heaven-sent food, I threw the fork into the sink, ignoring the loud clanging noise it made and making my way over to the kitchen counter to sit down on one of the stools.

_Awh look how cute, you made yourself your own dinner_. I suddenly was overcome by a wave of abandonment when I placed a piece of bacon into my mouth. But then the flavour filled my mouth and I decided I didn't—I wouldn't—give a shit any longer. Lucifer's words still lingered in my mind, however, along with an old tune.

It occurred to me that my phone was left in Florida along with my stash of weed and, what was it that I bought recently? Do I still have that nose candy that I had yet to have at with Luce? And the ecstasy was left stashed in my backpack… I momentarily wondered if it had all gotten confiscated or if I would be allowed back to pick up all my things from Florida. All of it was my property, after all. And just like that, my fury was back.

"What did you make? Breakfast?"

I whirled around in shock—who the fuck?! It all then hit me and I began to laugh manically. Oh _fuck_ yeah; it was my _favourite_ person—Hester—the dumb bitch that has been with my brother for the past, what, six or seven years. She looked like she had just gotten back from a business meeting judging by her fancy black blazer and silk blouse.

I _hate _Hester. Ever since she'd gotten together with Michael, she tried to reach out to me. She wanted me to call her _Aunt Hester_. She had this whole phase where she tried to be my mother figure for a while, waking up early to pack a lunch for me for school in the mornings, getting upset with my consistently poor grades (like really upset, too), and telling me to invite my friends over so that she could meet them some time.

At that point, I didn't have it in me to listen to her bullshit any longer and had just told her to fuck off. Exactly those words. And she did; humiliated, she went back to Louisiana, to _Michael_, after trying to spend time with me when Lucifer had taken off to God knows where for a couple days and Michael was too tied up to come over and look after his _own brother_ his self.

"_My_, you look indecent. I thought I told you I never want to see those knees again, young lady! Not in this house!" I shouted at her, joking. To be brutally honest, her skirt was nowhere near revealing, if not even just a little bit too long—the threads stopping at her mid knee. It just was funny because I couldn't think of a time that I had ever actually seen her wear anything just the tiniest bit slutty.

She looked me up and down and sneering, clearly noting that I was clad in only a pair of tight boxers and eating a full plate of bacon. "Have you checked a mirror today? I could say the same about you, Castiel," she retorted, walking into the kitchen to begin dinner. She eyed my right nipple piercing, glaring at my chest.

"Ooh, you watch that risqué mouth of yours', Hester," I cried, trying my absolute hardest not to laugh at her. "Lest you never forget, I am a man, therefore better than you."

I was set with a harsh glare. "Castiel, you are not funny. Do not speak like that to me."

Snarling, I bit out, "Shut up." I pouted, feeling bored now that she wasn't getting all riled up like she normally did. I took another bite of bacon and chewed, snorting. "Hester, Hester, Hester. More like _Pester_, _Pester_, _Pester_."

She leaned over to open a cabinet and lifted out a pot, but then accidentally dropped it. "Goddamn it," she whispered to herself, sounding extremely agitated.

"You kiss my brother with that dirty mouth of yours?" I feigned looking shocked. She scoffed, clearly annoyed but to high above me to fight back. "You are just all sass and no class today, Missy."

She looked perplexed as she let the water fill the pot. "Castiel, I swear to our God, I will notify Michael—"

I leaned forward in my seat and my jaw dropped. "What's that, Pester? You said you want to rat me out to that bastard of a brother? What the fuck am I doing wrong, bitch?" I shouted uncontrollably at her viciously, and part of me said to stop before I said something _really _bad, that she was just my brother's servant, that she didn't even really do anything but I was just too enraged at her threat to notify my brother.

"Do not tempt me," she warned, although she was nowhere near as threatening as she must have thought. She was now blatantly glaring at something on my left ear.

"What?" I asked, teasingly, calming down. I enjoyed watching Hester's face scrunch up in disgust. "You looking at this little thing?"

"You have mutilated your body," she said, nodding to my left ear that had he had just began to gauge and was currently fitted with a 6.5mm plug. The other ear was simply just pierced, although there were many other lacerations in my ears, a bar and a cartilage and my right tragus.

"You can fuck off, lady." I pushed my plate forward without care, the bacon scraps sliding off the plate as it shattered into the sink. I ignored her loud scream of distress as I pushed out of the seat on a stool at the marble counter.

x**X**x

I woke up the next morning feeling super refreshed, stretching when I saw the dumb alarm clock on the side table beside the bed. It was flashing 5,57 AM and I mewled, feeling so content in the comfortable bed. I had gone to bed early, around seven or so. After taking about an hour-long shower, I snuck out of my room and down the two flights of stairs, knowing _Pester_ was working on dinner still and Michael's car still wasn't in the driveway, I would be able to explore a little more.

And what had I found in my little exploration? The basement. To my surprise, it wasn't like those creepy-ass basements like in movies. It was well lit and looked like a complete house down there. I had to admit, it was pretty fucking awesome. I could only assume that I had stumbled upon Michael's man-cave. There was a stereo, another flat screen TV and a whole game system connected down there. But what I found most interesting was the pool table. I played at it by myself for well over an hour.

It was about time for me to get out of bed at that point. What was it that Mike had said about me going to school today? Honestly, I was considering doing my whole faking-shit where I lick my hands and wipe my face with it so it looks like a sheen of sweat and then hold my breath so that my face gets red. Afterwards when I hear footsteps approaching, I start coughing like I'm missing both lungs and Lucifer—

This was Michael, I suddenly remembered. Well fuck me.

School had started over a week ago back in Florida, so it made me wonder how long school had been out here.

Shrugging out of the covers, I noticed I was wearing the same pair of briefs for the past two days, so I yanked them down, walking out of them and then kicking them up into the hamper. I groped my shaft, giving myself a few quick rubs before I walked into the connecting bathroom, stepping into the shower. A part of me felt like I was at home, where I would wear practically nothing at all times and chooses what to do whenever I wanted.

Taking another of my infamous long-ass showers, I couldn't help but scrub my skin raw. I wasn't sure exactly what it was about this house, but it just made me feel dirty, like I wasn't in my own skin.

Walking back into my room now with a thin towel around my waist, I noticed a black box on the now neatly made bed that read _J. Crew_. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as it just seemed like the place that my older brother _would _shop. I pulled the top off and tossed it, feeling satisfied when it hit the wall. On top of a bunch of green tissue paper was a white envelope.

_I took the liberty of going through your clothes and taking out all the vulgar and offensive items you own and put them in a box in your closet. Although I disapprove of them, I respect your belongings and will not throw them out or donate them. But if you disrespect my wishes for you to look your best and as proper as possible, I will find them and I will get rid of them._

_You are to wear the outfits I pick out for you every morning and you are to report to me before you leave so that I can personally inspect your appearance._

_There will be no wearing of beanies, flannels, or ripped clothing for school. Weekends are debatable._

_Michael_

What a fucking tyrant, I thought to myself, glaring at the stupid piece of paper and discarding it by dropping it onto the floor. I pursed my lips, ripping the tissue paper out and getting a grip on some of the fabric. I first pulled out a button down shirt that matched the colour of the dark navy blue walls, and a gray cashmere V-neck sweater followed right after. I shrugged, dropping my towel and putting on some burgundy briefs, not forgetting to put on my Old Spice deodorant before I slid the button down on and buttoned it to the top, then pulling on the sweater right after. Yanking it down so that it fit right, I furrowed my brows at my reflection in the mirror. "This shit must've cost a fucking fortune," I muttered, only imagining the price tag. The fabric felt like heaven and it smelled good too.

Looking back to the box, I noticed there was another article of clothing left—a pair of slim vintage worn washed jeans that I pulled on and fit me like a glove. Staring at myself in the mirror, these pants did me _justice._ The jeans were _heroic. I_ would fuck me.

Although, I noted, this was nothing like how I would normally dress (ie. tee, flannel, beanie, ripped jeans, combat boots), I had to admit that the clothes I was wearing made me look good (and _damn_ that ass was on display). Jesus where did this plump ass come from?

There was a plaid shoebox to the left of the J. Crew one. Inside was a pair of white high-top Converses. When I put them on and laced them up, they seemed to fit the outfit so well, the look a mixture of classy and vintage.

There was the tiniest noise of creaking and I whipped around in my stance to see Michael standing in my doorway, his arms crossed, a smug look on his face.

"Hester has a good eye doesn't she?" he asked, his voice deep, proud.

I felt myself clench my teeth almost on instinct. "I don't want your Good Will," I said with malice.

He shrugged, leaning on the frame. "Well, what is picked out for you, you will wear. There is no arguing."

I bit my lip. "Guess I'll just have to go pick up some gasoline so I can bathe myself in it later," I murmured. Michael glared at me. I knew he hated it when I talked to myself.

I had to remind myself, this guy may be rich and although he had a weird way of showing it, did care for me (and has a sweet man-cave), but this was also the man who took all of my happiness, my entire _life_, for fuck's sake, and kicked it aside when he dragged me screaming and crying all the way from Florida. And the fact that I was wearing the clothes that _he _picked out and paid for just felt so _wrong_.

But what seemed to be the worst part was that I had no say in anything. I literally just turned seventeen about less than a month ago—I had a late birthday for my age group. Michael had gotten full custody, and Lucifer was probably still in jail at this point now since he practically didn't have a soul in the world to bail him out.

I fell momentarily silent.

"Hey," Michael said. He was speaking Russian now. "Will you come down? Hester graciously offered to drive you on your first day. You cannot be late. Do you apprehend? Verbal response, Castiel."

"Fuckin' sure," I mumbled in an annoyed tone.

"If you swear one more time, boy, I will revoke your privileges. You have no idea how easy I'm going on you since I caught you doing terrible things at _Lucifer's_."

Michael spoke his brother's name like a godforsaken curse. (In some religions it probably was, actually.) The two oldest brothers, Irish twins actually, had never really seemed to have gotten along, but Michael deliberately ratting him out—to the cops out of all the people—was something else completely.

"I had half a mind to castrate you then and there." Michael switched back to English now. "If you feel stressed and feel you need to swear, you will say it in Russian so that Hester cannot understand your pitiful, dirty mouth."

_Michael, all I want to do right now is stab you in the balls,_ I thought internally. Albeit externally? I nodded like a dead bobble head.

I had lost track of what he was saying when I noticed there was no noise at all. Looking at my brother's face now, it was twisted in anger and darkness. For such a bright, generally open and light man, he looked a lot like the devil.

"What in God's name are these?" he asked—_demanded—_taking a set closer to his dark haired brother. Michael lifted his hand and extended his fingers to my left ear, but before he could make any contact, I snarled and slapped his intruding hand away. Now his face grew red with anger. "Take all of these out. This instant."

My lips parted and I shot a smoldering look at my brother. "No. No!" I argued, realizing what he was asking of me. "I paid _hundreds _of dollars for these piercings!" I cried, making note of what an overstatement that was. In fact, half of them Crowley had done for me for free. "Besides, it's how I'm expressing myself. Isn't that what you said in that note you wrote me? You would 'respect my belongings'?"

"Those are disfiguring you. I do not approve of them," Michael stated.

My face contorted to one of worry. "Michael, _please_!" I bit my tongue. Was I seriously resorting to begging? Wow, this was getting more and more humiliating. "These… They're important to me. Someone important gave them to me."

My brother's dark face immediately softened. "James—" he spoke, using my full name, which for some reason made realize I hadn't heard in a while. He sounded stressed out. But then he was noticeably holding himself back as I looked up at him with my big azure blue eyes, and Michael's resolve seemed to crash and explode as I watched. He scrunched his face up and lifted a finger to my chest. "If your school calls, there will be a punishment in order." And with that, he left the room.

x**X**x

There was a steaming plate of breakfast waiting for me when I arrived downstairs, and in the seat beside it was Michael already eating, reading a novel. I walked straight past the plate of eggs, toast, and hash browns.

"Hey, Pester, there any Pop Tarts in this _chertov _place?"

Michael looked up from his book and fixed me the biggest bitchface I've ever seen. I had a sudden urge to laugh out loud. Hester blushed and placed her fork down. She doesn't speak Russian so she didn't quite catch what I had secretly embedded into my sentence; _chertov_ mean 'fucking'.

"Castiel, I told you I don't appreciate that name. And the answer is no, I don't buy Pop Tarts. They are very unhealthy."

I snorted. "Unhealthy my ass," I murmured distastefully. I turned around, ignoring the faces that Hester and Michael were shooting me; I pulled out a chair at the table and picked up a fork.

Michael slid his hand into my hair, grabbing a chunk and whispering for me to 'treat Hester correctly', and 'make good choices' in Russian as so that Hester wouldn't let on. He kissed my forehead and left the room, turning to wave goodbye to Hester before he was completely gone.

So then at that point, I decided fuck it, and I ate like an animal. Hester blatantly rolled her eyes when I asked for more, but smiled and granted me that, and I could tell she was internally grateful for me to actually acknowledge her cooking skills.

She all but scooped me out of my chair and led me to the garage, shuffling for me to get into the car, complaining that I was taking way too long. When I opened the door, I saw a black backpack waiting for me in the front seat. "Eughf. I do don't do fucking backpacks," I spat. I pulled a notebook out and tossed the bag into the backseat and then slid in beside Hester in her silver sleek and completely new looking Mercedes Benz. I leaned forward and began to fuck with all the buttons, some of them producing a whoosh of air right in my face—

"Look, you want to be a bitch to me? Do it. I won't tell Michael, but I'll be a bitch right back."

It took everything for me to not start pissing my pants laughing at that. "Stop speaking so lewdly, _Pester,_" I teased, "I'm getting all hot and bothered." I tried not to sound too smug.

"Goddamn it, Castiel," she said, agitated.

"Oh yeah, baby, swear some more; I'm getting _such _a hard on," I mewled obscenely.

Thinking she was done complaining, I leaned forward to try and figure out how to turn on some music when she slapped my hand away again. I laughed heartily at her before she pressed the correct button and turned some classical music on.

I ignored her cries of protest when I switched it to a rock station. It was nothing heavy—nothing heavy enough to piss her off anyway—but it wasn't like the shitty mainstream (ignore my inner hipster for a moment please) rap music that seemed to be on all the stations, but it was calming although loud at the same time. It was a perfect medium.

She reached into her leather D&G bag and revealed a white iPhone 5, holding it out for me. I looked at it quickly as she was pushing it into my hands.

Hester noticed my resistance and growled. "Take it, Castiel."

"No," I argued, crossing my arms and looking out the window to see the changing scenery.

"Castiel," she said, taking advantage of using my full name, "You need to have this so we can stay in communication. And there is a tracker on it, so don't get any funny ideas," she said with a hard voice. Hester drove into the school parking lot. "You are to come straight home after school. Whether you walk, take the bus, or fly with those pretty little wings on your back, I don't care. You will be home before four, though, and if you're not, there will be _major _repercussions." I swallowed and scoffed, remembering that she had seen me half naked yesterday—which would explain her knowledge of my tattoo.

"You done?"

"Have a great day."

"Oh, how could it get any better already?" I asked sarcastically, pulling open the car door and taking a step out, shooting her a very false smile. I widened my eyes and feigned an excited expression. "Bye, now, Mommy! I'll call you at lunch!" I cried. Hester in the car blushed and snarled up at me, and a cocky smirk formed on my lips. She revved the engine and proceeded to drive off, and I kicked her car as she drove off, hopefully leaving a dent.

I scowled. I turned around and looked at the school. A couple people walking into the entrance had stopped to see me making quite the scene, but when I turned my glare towards the group, they sheepishly hurried on.

In my left hand was an expensive iPhone and a black notebook, and I felt ready for the world.

Shooting daggers at anyone who seemed to glance my way, I was right on track towards the entrance before someone stopped me by placing a tentative hand on my chest.

"Are you Castiel Novak?"

"Remove your hand," I replied, and the girl, I noticed now, retracted her hand like my chest was a flattening iron. She was cute, though, I recognized with a smug grin.

"Nancy Fitzgerald. Hi." She stuck out her hand for me to grasp and shake. I did.

She was short. She seemed to be of Spanish decent what with her dark hair as almost black as mine, and those dark chocolaty brown eyes were attractive. She wore a white button down shirt and a black cardigan along with a beige pencil skirt and inky stockings.

"And this is Kevin Tran. We're both in Advanced Placement."

I looked over at him next, finally taking notice of the smaller Asian American boy beside her. Kevin was also small. God, why do I feel like such a fucking giant? I was something like five nine or so but these short people made me feel like a freak.

Kevin stuck out his hand. "Hi, nice to meet you; your brother called my mom and asked me to introduce you to our school."

I was in shock before I started to laugh rudely in their faces. "You're saying that Mike set you two up to babysit me?" he asked crudely. Nancy suddenly seemed scared. "Are you _fucking_ me?" I started laughing once again at their horrified expressions. "What a joke," I said slowly and then decided this was a waste of my time and I walked straight past them. They gasped and ran after me so that they were flanking either side of me.

"Please, no, it is our pleasure to show you around."

"We're both in Leadership class, so we do this a lot. We can direct you to the main office, so you can get your schedule," Nancy offered.

I snorted, "Whatever."

I knew I was being a bit of an asshole, but what better way to enter a new school with _Advanced Placement_ assholes on either side of me? Truthfully, I didn't see myself staying here long—maybe a month at most. By that time, Lucifer should be out of the cage and trying to get me back. I knew it was his plan.

Either way, I followed the two who began to bicker over which teacher was their favourite, and I just tuned them out at that point. We arrived at the administrative office where my new schedule was laid out waiting for me. I scoffed, imagining that this must've been another thing at Michael's request.

I picked it up, pursing my lips and running a hand through my unruly hair. I pretty much had retard classes—Art, Russian Honors 4 (I was fluent so what even was the point?), and Current life that I had already taken at my last school, but I assumed that my transcripts hadn't arrived here yet. Also, I had AP English 4, physiology, and statistics. Well, it wouldn't be as easy as I had imagined.

As it turned out, I had English with Kevin and stats with Nancy. I didn't really get why they seemed so excited about this.

I was directed by the dorks to my first class and holy shit, I was exhausted already. Just having to walk down the halls filled with goddamned _people_ was tiring as it is. Honestly, I was just trying to get the day over with at this point and my first class hadn't even started yet. I walked into my art class that was littered with geeky looking boys and girls who seemed in dire need to wash their greasy hair.

The teacher resembled the evil stepmother from Rapunzel. She looked fucking crazy, and she was approaching rapidly now.

I turned around, hoping I wouldn't be spotted, and then expected to just ditch the period all together when she called out to me.

"James Novak?" she asked, and I twirled around to see her smiling widely at me. She looked like a fuckin' kook up close as well. Yellowing teeth, black curly witch hair, wild brown eyes. "You're new! You're just a week late," she told me and latched a hand onto my shoulder, which I shook off the second the tips of her fingers connected with my cashmere sweater. Not to be a douche or anything, but I can't have the likes of her touching me.

"It's Castiel," I said, trying not to portray how creeped out I felt.

"Awesome!" Why was this old lady so full of energy? "Why don't you grab a pencil and go sit down in the back with Charlie?" A redhead looked up at hearing her name announced.

I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled loudly, very dramatically and pushed past her; I slid my phone into my butt pocket as I approached her. I dropped my notebook onto the table, which created a loud slapping noise, and took a seat beside the girl.

"Charlie Bradbury." I furrowed my brows, looking up. She was talking to me? My bright blue eyes prodded her hazel ones as if checking for something mentally wrong with her. "Speaking to ya," she acknowledged.

It seemed like she might've been naturally a brunette, but dyed it a hot red. She had on a pair of cute forest green skinny cargos tucked into a pair of brown leather combat boots and a burgundy zip up along with a jean jacket. I decided that I wasn't interested, but nevertheless liked what I saw.

I couldn't contain my snort. "Castiel Novak. What's up?" I retorted and then ignored her. It wasn't to be rude—believe me—I just wasn't honestly expecting an answer.

Apparently she did have an answer, though, and I looked up at her the second she had finished her thought. Looking down at the sketchpad before her, my eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit, did you draw this?" I demanded loudly, drawing the attention of a few immediate students.

It was definitely an interesting picture. It was of a tall, long legged heroine. She had long blonde hair and wore a black flannel shirt that was unbuttoned and ripped in areas, and her flaming red bra was visible and supporting her large breasts. She wore a pair of pinstriped red shorts and her feet were bare. In her hands she held twin swords, and there were red cuts all over her body.

"That is a masterpiece," I said appreciatively.

"Thanks," Charlie blushed. "You can actually have it if you want. I have a whole studio full of dumb pictures like this."

"Fuck yeah," I all but shouted excitedly. I chuckled and looked over at her with a smile. "I just moved here," I found myself telling her, surprising myself when I opened up so easily to her.

"Hm, I could've guessed," she chortled. I looked up at her with an exasperated smile. "From where?" she asked, now laughing as she ripped out the paper and handed it to me. She watched me give it a long once over before she started on a new piece of paper and began drawing.

"Orlando. I lived with my brother. Now I live here with my _other_ brother." I couldn't help but notice the venom in my voice when I said 'here'. I sighed deeply. It sounded so stupid to me, even now when I've thought about it over a thousand times.

She laughed. It occurred to me that she was sketching me. Charlie furrowed her brows and asked, "Why all this dipshitery?" Her eyes were back on the canvas at once.

I groaned and stretched my legs under the table, wanting to get out of this dusty smelling room and go for a run or something—something that would help me relax. "Got caught up. And then my brother that lives in Orlando got arrested for possession and providing for a minor I guess. It really just all happened before my eyes," I full out admitted, pursing my lips. "Honestly, I mean, two days ago I was smoking a great joint with my brother and playing Mario Kart and then, bam," I clapped my hands together, "I was in a court room, and then on a plane."

"Sucks," Charlie agreed, smiling. "I mean—I'm sorry about getting kicked out. You made any friends yet?" she asked, this time making eye contact with me.

Pushing my lips up, I shook my head and scoffed, suddenly annoyed. "My brother called some kids' parents to set me up on a play date with them, but other than that, I just got here twenty minutes ago."

Charlie giggled gently, squeezing her eyes shut and not suppressing the snort that caused her to quickly cover her mouth with her hand. "Sorry. Well, if you wanted, or were _desperate enough,_ you're welcome to hang out with my friends. We're a little bit of band geeks, but we're quality." She laughed more.

I couldn't help but smile at her. I was genuinely surprised that I made a friend so fast. Well, maybe I couldn't exactly call her a friend at this point since I don't exactly know jackshit about her, but it was close enough.

Charlie laughed. "Need someone to show you around town?" she asked politely, checking the clock and beginning to pack up her stuff into her messenger bag that had a bunch of Harry Potter key chains on the side.

I found myself sighing deeply once again. "Soo, here's the thing. My brother is this really strict, religious fuck and his girlfriend is pretty much babysitting me. I have to be back before four. Normally I wouldn't give a shit but he actually threatened he'd take a lot of my shit away and I'd rather not get kicked out because I don't have enough for a plane ticket back to Orlando." _And Lucifer's got to get out of that cage first._

She laughed. "Gotcha." The teacher was taking roll quickly before class ended. Charlie looked over my schedule and shook her head. "No other classes, looks like."

I shrugged and lightly chuckled. "Guess I'll just have to use my charm and God-like looks to attract friends and possible mates." My natural (obnoxious) sarcasm was resurfacing.

x**X**x

Stats had gone and passed; I had made sure to sit on the opposite side of the room from Nancy. Every time I even dared to look in that general direction, she was looking back. And not like looking or just checking, but staring. Staring like a mother fucking owl. It was not only annoying but also a little bit terrifying.

Then came Russian 4 Honors. I honestly didn't think I would even need to try in this class, let alone bring materials (not that I was planning on doing that at all at this school). I knew it like I knew the back of my pale ass hand. It was, after all, my first.

"_Privet, _new student!"

"_Dobroye utro_," I responded easily, the sound slipping off my tongue like second nature. I told her that my name was Castiel and she nodded.

The teacher was speaking in full Russian now. "Class, this is our new student, Castiel Novak." She turned to me, her smile wide. "I am Miss Karolina. Since you are new, you need to present yourself to the class. And don't worry, everyone had to do this last week as an ice breaker, and since you're our newest addition, it's only fair."

I groaned and shrugged my aching shoulders. I was born into this language, so there was absolutely nothing for me to be worried about. "My name is Castiel Novak and I was born near St. Petersburg. I moved to Florida when I was nine with my two older brothers. Sometimes when I'm bored I pour yogurt on my face, also I have seven piercings on my body." I stopped. Everyone looked immensely confused. "My favourite food is bacon." That one people could understand and chuckle at.

I paused and licked my lips; did I have only seven piercings? Or eight? I had my left plug, normal piercing, cartilage, tragus, bar, belly button, and my personally favourite, right nipple. That would make seven. I was surprised when Michael hadn't noticed the nipple piercing when was lying half naked in my bed yesterday morning.

The teacher furrowed her brows, looking like she wanted to say something, but refrained from it. "All…right, Castiel Novak, everyone!" she cried, the excitement back in her voice. "Please find an empty seat," she requested.

I made my way into the back, noticing that people were staring at me. Was it my ears? I asked myself, or maybe just my devilishly good looks. Jeez, I should be a stand up comedian.

"Cas," whispered a boy. I looked over in his direction, still holding the empty black notebook in my hand tightly, the metal spiral digging into my fingertips.

In the back was a boy with thick, leafy brown hair that covered his forehead. He seemed stretched out, too, or maybe his legs were just too big to fit under the table. He nodded at the desk beside him and I swallowed lethargically, taking that as enough of an invitation to sit down next to him.

He seemed largely Italian and somewhat German. The dark haired boy was not a bad mix; he seemed younger than me. His eyes verged on being brown and green, as if they couldn't exactly make up their mind. And I was right—the boy was huge. He held out his hand for me to shake and it pretty much dwarfed my own.

"Sam Winchester. You're good at this, can you help?"

Bitch, I was born in Russia. "Give me that shit," I offered, taking his workbook from him and filling in the answers as easy as hell. Sam chuckled, keeping a tentative eye on the teacher to make sure she didn't come over towards us and catch me.

Five seconds later, I tossed the book back to Sam's desk. "Thanks," the dark haired boy said, smiling gratefully. His smile was bright and warming, and I caught myself relaxing into the seat more.

A loud banging reverberated from the doorframe and a short boy appeared there. He was hanging from the frame and then dropped to his feet. "Honors Russian! My _favourite_ class!" he shouted, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he grabbed the attention of the class before he headed towards where Sam and I were sitting. "Ah shit, someone stole my seat."

He went straight to the back and grabbed a chair and pulled it over to me, positioning it on the side so that we were sharing the desk. Miss Karolina didn't seem to really give a shit about his noisy and distracting entrance.

"And who might you be?" he asked, clasping his hands together under his chin and looking up at me with big brown eyes. "Newbie?"

"Castiel Novak," I told him, cracking my fingers under the table—a nervous habit—and we shook hands.

"Gabriel. Nice to meet you, man," he said pleasantly, his eyes wild. His golden brown hair was slicked back as if he had used some sort of grease in it. He slid out a long e-cig from behind his ear and took a huff. "You look confused."

I hadn't really noticed that my facial expression had changed, but I forced myself to correct it. "Yeah, I mean… What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"What!" he shrugged, a loud giggle escaping his lips. "It's legal to smoke an e-cig in doors pretty much anywhere. It's not like it's actual smoke. And besides, I'm eighteen so no one can ask any questions. This is the best I'm getting anyway since my mom stopped giving me allowances to buy actual cigarettes, but this shit is still pretty good. Nicotine and all."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't get why you're wasting your life with those fucking cancer sticks," Sam said, annoyed. At first, I thought Sam was a douche trying to sound mightier, or feel more powerful than his smaller friend, but then it occurred to me that Sam just actually just cared for him.

"Meh, where's the fun in your life, Sammy?" Gabriel asked, taking a huff and letting it out in a girl's face near him who squealed and slapped his arm. He laughed at her.

"Fucking up and left with Jess," Sam groaned. In a matter of point eight seconds, Gabriel looked sympathetic. There seemed to be something silent unsaid between the two and it got silent. I didn't know what to say to change the subject; I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable pressed in between the two boys. The teacher approached and they livened up.

"How is it going?" she asked in Russian.

"Can I get some water, Caroline?" Gabe asked loudly, of course catching the attention of some of the kids around the classroom.

"Gabriel, we only speak Russian in Russian 4 Honors. Otherwise, you would not have chose to enter the class," she reprimanded in a strict although motherly voice.

He groaned and repeated his question in Russian. She allowed it so he got up and left the room so that it was back to just Sam and me. Miss Karolina placed a workbook in front of me and I looked at it. She explained to me that there were three pages that needed to be completed and when I opened to them, I noticed they were just fill in the blanks questions.

Sliding out my phone, Sam offered to give me his number. I now had six numbers; Gabriel's, Sam's, Charlie's, the house's, and Michael and Hester's cells. I then licked my upper lip and set off to downloading apps on my phone, not caring if it would cost anything because it wasn't _my_ money that I was spending. And besides, what was Hester expecting when she handed to me? It was clearly an open invitation otherwise she would have warned me to not download anything.

Gabe got back and the class ended shortly after, and I went to my fourth period English class. I ended up seeing Kevin but I chose not to talk to him all period. Then came lunch where I found myself truly alone. It hadn't hit me until the bell rang at the end of English. I looked down at his phone and my stomach dropped.

Swallowing, I dialed Crowley's number as I slid into a nook on the ground, leaning my back against a building while sitting on the grass. His phone rang, and rang, and rang until it went to his exact same boring voicemail that I knew—_Crowley. Leave a message._

Breathing in, it came to mind that I hadn't actually even talked to him in almost two weeks before I had come to Louisiana.

Right when I decided to look up, Sam and Gabriel were walking past and nodded to me, then paused, telling me to join them since there was off campus lunch. I stayed still in my pocket on the ground for a moment before I gladly accepted, feeling thankful for the first time since I came to Baton Rouge.

We all ate greasy hamburgers at a small grill place and Gabriel ate at least eight cake-pops and three sodas. He was a weird one, but it made me like him all the more. Surprising us all, Sam revealed to me about his ex-girlfriend, Jessica Moore, who had moved to California a little before summer had ended.

Lunch was a little under fifty minutes, so we had to hurry back to school and I arrived to my fifth period Current Life thirty seconds before class started.

There were stupid ice breakers going on, which meant I was to sit in a group of people and listen to them talk about their hobbies and interests in pig Latin. I wanted to scream at how retarded all these people were. I carved it into the walls of my brain to remember to bring earphones tomorrow and download as much loud music onto my phone as possible when I got back to Michael's house. When it became my turn to present some facts, I took no time cussing them all out before I told the teacher I had to go to the bathroom, deciding I was not returning.

It wasn't a block day, so the classes were shorter than normal, and I only had to wait ten minutes walking around the perimeter of the school before the class was over. I couldn't risk getting an absent mark so I knew I would have to attend the final sixth period as to keep Michael from burning my clothes while making me watch.

My physiology class was last period so I had to sit through that boring class, and it struck me that there weren't any particularly intelligent individuals in that class either. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't thinking this because I saw myself as superior to the rest of these teens in my classes—I just felt like I was stuck in every sense of the word with morons who didn't compare in the slightest to my last group of friends back in Florida. That was probably just it. No one would be as funny as Crowley, or as crude as Alistair. Everyone just looked dull-witted in correlation it seemed.

Pressing my lips tightly together, I wanted to go back to Florida.

The bell rang and I grabbed the still empty notebook and made my way out of the classroom, feeling someone tap my shoulder. I was about to turn around and shout obscenities at the person when I noticed it was shaggy haired, beautiful Sam, standing at his near six one height (and he didn't seem near done growing) with an awkward smile on his face.

"Jeez, Cas, it looked like you were ready to bite my head off."

I snorted lightly and we both kept walking down the hall. "Close. I was thinking more along the lines of knocking all your teeth down your throat."

"Ah," Sam acknowledged, laughing. "Well I was wondering what are you doing after school? I was thinking about stealing my brother's car and showing you around. Err, with the company of some of my friends I was hoping you would want to meet," he added quickly.

I frowned. I felt successful that two different people had asked me if I wanted to hang out with them after school, but then realization washed over me and I discerned I was going to have to explain this to Sam as well. "Here's the thing—that really sounds great and fun and all but my… Brother is making his ho-bag girlfriend watch me this afternoon and she threatened me this morning that if I wasn't back before four, it'd be bad—which normally I would not even pay attention to, but my clothes are on the line."

Sam nodded, pursing his lips. "Alright. Then maybe you're free sometime this weekend? And I find it funny how you didn't notice me or Ash throwing shit at your back all class."

I knitted my brows together as I glared up at Sam, and I reached a hand back and brushed it, feeling a bunch of spitballs fall to the ground. "Auuh, gross, fuck you!"

"Nah, I'm strictly into girls," Sam chuckled.

At this, I actually laughed. "Was it that obvious?"

"Most dudes don't check out other dudes' asses before faces. But it's whatever." Sam smiled brightly, his perfect teeth gleaming. In the outside light, Sam's brown hair shone and I squinted.

And fuck me for sounding like a little bitch, but Sam seemed really, really cool. In that moment, I actually felt hope swirl in my belly. _Sam was a friend, and he accepted me._ It felt good, and it wasn't expected. Not this early, that was for sure.

"Well I gotta catch the bus because my dumbass brother got suspended the first goddamn day of school and can't give me a ride home because he's not allowed on campus, so, till tomorrow I guess," he nodded to me, pressing his hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, hang on—I'll take it too if it get's off near my brother's house." It would forever stay as 'Michael's House', because I knew I would never feel at home there.

* * *

let me know what you think! i'm a little anxious to continue so it would be really helpful if you gave me your input! i missed you guys! queen of sexual tension is _baaaaack_!


	2. My Body Tells Me No

**Warnings** for this chapter: homophobic language, swearing, bullying.

***** xxx xxx (double divider) _means flashback/end flashback_

* * *

"Boy! You need to go to school!" Bobby called from the room downstairs. Dean cracked an eye open due to the extreme shrill in his ears. He lifted up his hand and turned his head. Was it Wednesday yet?

His eyes opened up again. His body was warm and sore. When Dean actually was able to feel things again, his arm was underneath something soft and hot. Tilting his chin so that he could get a look at whatever it was, he paused and smirked.

There was a girl sleeping soundly half on top of his chest with a soft expression on her face; make up slightly smeared, bedhead hair. She was cute, but fuck… _What was her name again?_

He shifted his weight to get her attention. She opened her light chocolaty brown eyes and smiled. The brunette boy smiled at her; she was a cute girl, so why couldn't he put a name on the face?

"Hey Dean," she said and lifted herself up, exposing her naked chest to Dean's hungry eyes and pressed her plump lips to the boy's.

"Morning," he responded. He made a pause as if to insert her name after, but he couldn't find it in him, so he decided on a pet name instead. "Sweetheart. How was your sleep?"

"Perfect," she responded with a cute smile on her cupid bow shaped lips. "And yours?"

"Awesome," he responded with excited eyes. She bit her lip and eyed him seductively, and she essentially gave him the okay to fuck her again, if it weren't for the angry old coot downstairs shouting for him to get his lazy ass out of bed.

Dean gave her one last once over before he scratched the back of his neck and got out of the bed. Yeah, so maybe now wasn't the best of times for thank kind of thing.

"Fuck…" he muttered. "What day is it?" Perhaps had he not gotten so hammered last night and picked up the first girl he saw at a friend of his back to school party, he wouldn't have such a pounding headache or, _I don't know_, possibly know what day of the week it was.

"Tuesday. Second week of school," she responded with a quirky laugh as she got out of the bed. She was tall with a supermodel thin body. She slid on her panties and short jean skirt and then her bra.

As she was buttoning up her blouse, Dean had to ask, "What's your name again?"

Bad move. Her whole face fell and she looked on the verge of crying. "Tessa Rhea. We're in the same fourth period class… Remember?" She looked incredibly hurt. It occurred to Dean that it was a little strange he didn't recognize her—he notices a nice rack when he sees one.

But then again, yeah, uh, Dean doesn't exactly remember yesterday, no less over a week ago. Oh, so this was the chick that got made fun of for her creepy last name.

On the first day of school, some thugs had been fucking around with his little brother and although Dean knew for a fact that Sam could hold his own, he didn't like the disrespect they were showing him and started throwing punches. Eventually teachers had gotten involved, and in the heat of the moment, Dean had accidentally punched Mr. Lee, the vice-principal.

So, yeah, suspended for five days. Technically he was allowed to go back to school, like, yesterday, but Dean had lied to Bobby and told him he got another day off so he stayed home and nursed his Sunday night hangover.

This hangover was nothing like the worst ones he'd ever had—trust him on that. Dean was a full-fledged alcoholic and he wasn't even eighteen until last month. He didn't really care about anything that included his health; he smokes daily and fucks women and the occasional male, although rare, (is much more pleasurable). When Dean thought about it, he accepted himself being bisexual and could even go as far as calling himself gay. But when other people brought it up… That was a different story.

There was just something that Dean found so fucking sexy in guys rather than girls. A typical girl (that Dean goes for anyway): blonde or brunette, occasionally Asian, tits, ass, pussy. But with guys, there was just something about seeing them writhe beneath him and allow their masculinity to be ripped from them. Especially fucking a virgin homo—those assholes were absolutely to _die_ for.

"Alright, well, I have to take a shower," Dean said, realizing he was the only naked one in the room. Tessa looked ashamed of herself and picked up her bag, not making eye contact, and left, muttering a 'See you around' line and dipping out the door right as Bobby was walking down the hall.

"What the fuck's her issue?" he asked and turned his head to look inside to see Dean still completely undressed and not even embarrassed. "Son of a—Dean! Cover your damn junk when I'm around!" he cried.

Dean held his hands up in protest. "Shut up, Bobby. You think I'm hot."

"No I don't, yah prick!"

"Not his fault he has no idea when you're planning to prowl around and check in on him," said Sam who just exited the bathroom along with a big puff of steam from the shower and a white towel tied around his waist. Dean smiled widely at his little brother from down the hall.

The two brothers were closer than anyone, but they couldn't sleep together—rather, in the same room. Though they loved each other more than anything, they argued like an old married couple when held in close quarters for more than an hour. So they had worked out that the boys would get the two rooms upstairs while Bobby gets the master bedroom downstairs away from the bickering boys (and closer to the kitchen).

"You want to get dressed so we can actually get to school on time for once?" Sam asked in that bitchy tone that he had picked up from God-knows-where.

"Hey Sammy, calm your tits. I have to take a shower."

"Hey Dean, I don't actually have tits, I'm a male. So hurry the fuck up."

"Oh, sure you are. I believe you." That earned Dean a bitchface.

Bobby shook his head and walked down the stairs. "Alright princesses, Dean if you aren't out of bed by seven thirty and down by seven forty-five in the mornings, you don't get to take your car. And Sam stop nagging him, makin' my head hurt."

Dean was about to complain but Bobby turned and looked at him, pointing a finger at him.

"Yeah, fine Bobby."

Dean spanked Sam's towel clad ass as he walked past his little brothers room and entered the bathroom with his teal blue towel in hand. Before Sam could scream at him, Dean turned the lock and turned the shower on. He smirked triumphantly.

Exiting the shower, Dean looked at himself in the mirror when he returned into his own room. His hair was dripping still, but he had a military cut, meaning extremely short on the sides and longer on the top. It was short so it would dry quickly. Over his chest he had one tattoo. Of course, he had more but only one was special enough to put over his chest. His buddy Garth had done it for him when he was sixteen (making him possibly the coolest boy at his school for having one so early) after his adoptive mother, Karen, had died. It was a symbol of a star inside a sun and it had been Karen's family crest from Scotland or something from way back when, but his brother also had a matching one.

He pulled a navy tee over and slid on a pair of worn jeans that he would soon need to replace, but for now were in the sweet spot between totally new and totally ratty. Tight enough to make his ass look sweet and long enough to roll them up a bit at the bottom. Dean slid on a black leather belt and grabbed his cell phone from the charger by his bed, hoping the maid was coming today to clean his shithole room.

The blond haired boy arrived downstairs and grabbed some toast that Sam had made for him and swiped his keys from the kitchen counter before grabbing his leather jacket and throwing it in the back seat of his baby, his one and only—his 1967 Chevy Impala—the one that would always be there for him. Sam took a second, gathering his stuff and sticking it into his backpack and pushing it into the foot space by the passenger seat.

Dean turned her on and revved the engine, pulling out of Bobby's driveway with ease and roaring down the street towards their school. It was bright outside, looking up to be a hot day. His signature leather jacket would probably have to stay in the backseat for the day.

xxx xxx

Dean was four and Sam three when their mother Mary died in a tragic house fire. It was honestly a one in eight million of a chance, but it happened to them, and they knew they needed to move on. Shortly after this happened, as Dean can hardly remember it, their father, John Winchester, had resorted to drinking and taking advantage of drugs. Dean was almost five when the man had pushed a half-awake Dean and carried a nearly four-year-old Sam into the car.

Dean stared at the back of his father's dark head from the backseat, holding his arms tightly and possessively around his baby brother who was beginning to stir and cry.

"_Where are we going? Daddy, I'm 'cared_."

John thrust open the door and all but scooped Dean out of the car in front of an orphanage just three miles out of town. The strangest part, however, was when he got back in and drove off. Dean remembered feeling the prickly feeling of tears welling up behind his eyes but held strong as he cooed to his little brother. A door slammed open behind them and Dean made eye contact with a matronly woman who stood in the doorway with a knowing—although crestfallen—look on her face.

Although the feeling was bursting inside of him, Dean would not cry. The skinny blond boy only held his little brother tighter to his chest and glared at the woman.

In truth, the experience at the orphanage hadn't been so terrible. There was good food, warm beds, plenty of play time with his little brother—and that was probably the reason that Dean was so protective of Sam, they had gone through so much together what with a drug abusing father and then living for almost a year in an orphanage, keeping to their selves and not making any other friends.

They were lucky, though. Small, cute, charismatic boys were popular. Couples wanted a young boy, (as creepy as that sounds), but when they found out that there was another one in the family, they didn't have it in them to pick and leave the other alone, but couldn't afford to adopt two at once. In spite of that, once Karen and Bobby Singer came around, the two boys saw a light at the end of the tunnel.

Karen was unable to conceive and Bobby had always wanted little boys. They were older at the time, in their early forties when they realized it was too late to have their own, they resorted to adoption.

The four of them lived ten years together—it had been hard at first adjusting to the small things at their house. Things like sitting down to pee, use manners when eating, no roughhousing inside, etc. But ten years had gone by fast and Karen had gotten sick; she went to the doctors one day to return with the news that she had lung cancer. Just like that.

It was quick after that, and she died within the year. Bobby had been terrible with the loss of his wife; after all they had been married happily for almost thirty-five years. More than anything the Winchester boys, who had kept their last names despite their adoption papers, were fearful that the same thing would happen to Bobby that happened to their own dad.

To some degree, Bobby was alike him. But he had typically already been a drunk. Just at this point, he would be a drunk outside, too. He was arrested many times after she died, but the local police department would usually turn a blind eye and take him home because everyone in town had loved Karen Singer and her famous apple pies.

And—don't even get Dean started on those.

xxx xxx

Why were there so many hot chicks at his school but his stupid brain refused to remember any of their names?

Gabe was practically waiting for Sam when Dean parked in the teachers' parking lot, ignoring the many complaints he got from the principal. The golden-brown haired boy was laughing and stuttering, trying to tell something to Sam but tripping over himself as he was talking.

"Spit it out, Gabe," Sam demanded.

"D—dude! I'm trying! I just—fuck—can't! It's about Castiel!"

"Who is that?" Dean asked. Perhaps one of these nameless girls—or maybe that name belonged to a new female student? God, he could never get over new girls fawning over him. He was a scumbag for treating them with so much attention and love for about a week or maybe if they're interesting a month, it varies, and once he gets it in, he's done.

"Uh, just this new guy—"

"Let me meet him," Dean demanded, pulling a pack of Marlboro Red out of his back pocket and sliding a cigarette out. He lit it and in inhaled deeply, ignoring the annoyed look he got from his little brother as he leaned against the hood of his baby. Gabe was light enough where he could just take a seat on her hood and not put a dent in it. Sam, on the other hand, was not allowed anywhere near his baby's bonnet.

"Sure, he's really cool—hey let me get some you fuckin' hog," Gabriel said, snapping the cigarette out of Dean's mouth and taking a hit. "Guess who is interested in him?"

"Who?" Sam asked, leaning against some teacher's car, careful to not let the alarm go off.

"Anna Milton." The Gabe burst out laughing and Sam's jaw dropped.

Dean groaned. "Are you fucking around? 'Cause so help me God, Gabe—"

"Calm down, cocksucker. I'm telling the truth." Gabe's eyes turned excited again and he looked at Sam. "Dude, she wants the dick so bad."

"Have they met?" Sam inquired.

Anna Milton was pretty much the Regina George of their school. She was smart, athletic, charismatic, had the best fucking body a girl could ask for. Dean and Anna had fucked on more than one occasion, the first time in the backseat of his Impala. And sue him if he was wrong, but she was one of his best lays.

When they had dated for almost three months last year, Dean had been king of the school, and Anna his queen. But their mutual attraction had faded and they good naturedly agreed to still be friends. _Like that ever works_. She got popular fast when she started dishing out shit about Dean. When word got around that Dean had a baby dick, he was furious with her.

"Damn, she could get anyone she wanted. Cas is pretty good looking, though," Sam admitted.

"Yeah, if I wasn't as straight as a ruler he would be the first guy I'd fuck," Gabe agreed. Dean laughed and Sam hit him with the back of his hand on Gabriel's stomach.

Okay—butseriously—who the fuck was this Cas—Castiel guy? New student and hot were the only details he had acquired so far, and he was hungry for more.

"We all know you would do anything to suck cock," Sam said, and Dean agreed with his little brother as Gabe glared at the two of them hatefully. Glancing at his watch, Sam groaned. "We're going to be late. We should go."

Dean finished his cigarette and stamped it out, heading into the school.

They headed in through the huge black iron gates, but a hand stopped Dean on his chest. He looked down beside him and saw vice principal Mr. Lee and rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Winchester? Is that smoke I smell?" the man asked. He was in his mid thirties and had a plaid button down and black slacks.

"Of course that's what you smell. Why even give me the benefit of the doubt? I'm eighteen," Dean spoke in a cynical tone then proceeded to continue on his way as Mr. Lee started shouting that there was an absolutely no tolerance smoking rule at the school, but honestly what school didn't have that rule?

Dean was on his way to his locker to get out a notebook or maybe just a pencil, he never had the chance to even put his textbooks in there so he doubted Sammy had magically dropped off some school supplies. He was in the industrial building and kids were scurrying to their classes before their teachers could mark them absent, so Dean had to wind his way through clumsy students.

Some redheaded girl bumped into Dean's chest after turning a hard corner and let out a loud squeak.

"Ex-fucking-scuse you?" Dean asked angrily and shot her a harsh glare before continuing on his way down the hall she muttered a quick sorry and then grabbed his wrist. Dean hadn't been expecting this, but when her (surprisingly) strong grip caused the brunette boy to whirl around in the grip and meet eyes with strong azure blue ones, he was momentarily confused. "Who are you?"

"Apologize to her." The two of them stood there for a beat, the boy glaring mercilessly and Dean caught almost completely off guard. "You were the one that ran into her, do it," the dark haired boy demanded. But fuck, Dean was in a daze. This kid was fucking gorgeous. Dark and messy sex hair, deep azure glaring eyes at Dean. He didn't exactly get a chance to completely check the boy out, but Dean was satisfied with the face.

"Apologize—what? Hell no. Fuck off, brat, you're going to be late," Dean said and rolled his eyes, turning away when he still felt that tight grip on his wrist. God, how did this thin boy have such a grasp? "Get the fuck off!"

"Boys? Is there a problem?" An older woman who appeared to be some teacher asked, approaching them.

The redhead girl gripped the blue-eyed boy's bicep and tried to pull him away. "Come on, forget him. We _are_ going to be late."

"No," Dean responded to her and hastily yanked the boy's hand off of his wrist. The teacher continued on, nodding as she passed them and went into her own classroom. The two boys continued their staring match before Dean spoke again. "I asked you a question."

"It's none of your business," the unruly haired boy responded, realigning his shoulders and turning to the girl. He shot Dean one last glare before he turned the corner and disappeared.

Dean was utterly shocked when he felt like he wanted to run after the guy and simultaneously make out with him and punch him in the face.

x**X**x

Arriving in his first period math class just two minutes late, Dean sat down next to his friends Benny, Victor, and just after he entered, so did Ruby. She smirked when she saw her friend Dean sitting in his usual spot (they both had the same teacher the prior year but were in a different class) in the room.

She smiled deviously and slid into the seat next to Dean, exclaiming, "You're back, _asshole_!" in which made Dean chuckle and punch her on the arm.

"Fuck off, slut. You missed the shit out of me," Dean said, smirking and pulling his phone out of his butt pocket.

"Yeah, it was boring terrorizing this school with the fat pussy behind you," Ruby joked, popping a piece of gum into her mouth and winking at Benny who just glared at her.

"Seriously? I mean—yeah, fucking thanks for taking your time coming back, you ass. I had to deal with the bitch of the year when you were gone!" Benny cried in his southern accent. It was funny how all of them lived in the south, Louisiana for Christ's sake, and hardly any of them had as thick of an accent as Benny, although that doesn't mean that it's not there. If Dean or Ruby wanted to, they could drawl all sorts of different accents.

Dean and Victor laughed. Victor was the quiet of the four, but he was the one who always was there to guide the four of them out of trouble. Although he was a smoker and underage drinker, he was a straight-A student and aspired to be a cop or special agent detective when he grew up.

"What about Vicky?" Dean asked, gesturing to Victor who rolled his eyes at the childish nickname.

"He left me high and dry with her. Hung out with Raphael and Gordon to get away from her!" Benny added.

"Hey! We had fun," Ruby persisted, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting now.

Ruby was a really pretty girl… in a dark way, Dean supposed. He had originally been attracted to her when she first transferred schools late last year, but he got to know her and wow did that ware off fast. Kidding. Mostly.

A bond grew between them, both being orphaned—her parents had given her up when she was two and she lived with her aunt now—and once they figured out that they were a lot alike, they grew to become closer. All summer they hung out, but they didn't like to bring up their pasts much. There was kind of a mutual silent agreement that it was to be kept hidden and act like it really wasn't even there, their memories.

The door opened and most everyone who didn't have headphones on craned their neck so that they could get a look at the last to arrive—Anna Milton. Of course there were her friends who followed after her like little hungry puppies; Joanna Harvelle—hot, blonde, throws the best parties since she has pretty much an endless supply of alcohol because her mom runs a bar downtown—and Bela Talbot. Bela was something all together. She had originally had the hots for Dean's little brother, but after Dean and her had hooked up one night at a party (probably Jo's) Sam was out of the picture. And ever since that night, like, half a year ago in January, she's been on Dean's dick.

Not literally, because Dean likes to take pride in girls who he fucks.

Bela Talbot was nothing short of beautiful what with her long brown hair and big brown eyes. She had a sexy body, too, and a full ride scholarship to one of those ivy-league universities that her daddy was happy so proud of her for.

She was (and is) just not really Dean's cup of tea.

But Anna Milton was… What adjective would be appropriate for this context? She was saintly, meritorious. Whiter than _white_. Long red hair—not wiry orange or red like that weird girl Dean had bumped into earlier that clearly dyed hers—and almond shaped green eyes behind long dark lashes and high cheekbones.

And the fact that he had dated her just a year ago and things had gone stale was no reason to feel jealous that she had a little baby crush on some new prick. Dean wasn't jealous, though. He hadn't even met the guy. Anna had extremely high standards, so maybe he was worth more than a glare or a glance over.

Plus, what with Dean's relatively new sexual preferences, maybe this could get a little interesting.

Like they always seemed to, Anna and Dean made eye contact upon her entrance. Not as awkward as it seemed, they watched each other as Anna made her way over to her seat in the front, the front of all they eyes. Their eye contact finally broke when she sat down and Jo brought up some conversation with her.

Dean snapped out of it and turned back to Ruby who looked annoyed. Yeah, he got caught checking out his hot ex-girlfriend again. Sue him.

x**X**x

"You are the _coolest_ guy I know, Cas," Charlie gushed as we passed the corner and entered our first period art class. I rolled my eyes.

"Your sarcasm does not impress me, Charlie," I said tiredly. We sat down and she looked at me with a serious face.

"Castiel… I'm not fucking around. At this school, my friends and I are all pretty much known as, well, band geeks—not that we even are involved in band at all—and people like Dean Winchester don't give us a second glance, not giving a rat's ass if we collide or get tripped or… Castiel, you don't understand how much I admire you."

I shot her a sidelong glance. "Oh stop. You're making me blush," I said and chuckled, opening that still empty notebook I had and picked up a pencil that I found off the floor and began to draw.

A sudden hand lay down on my wrist. "I know we just met like one day ago, but…" she bit her lip, her cheeks flaming red like her eclectic hair. "I really envy you, you know."

Her eyes became glossy and my breathing slowed down considerably.

"You're everything I want to be. Independent, strong-willed, down-to-earth… I mean like, I'm fine with being who I am, it's just homophobic parents and all make me kinda wish that things were a little different."

This definitely caught my attention and I swallowed slowly. "You're lesbian?"

"Flamingly so, I'm afraid," she said with a small smile.

I furrowed my brows and finally just shrugged. "Well why then don't you have a girlfriend? You're cool and artistic and funny… There should be chicks lining down the block for you."

"That's the thing, Cas. I'm not like you. I'm shy and I have low self-esteem and I'm socially retarded. I've never even met another lesbian before," she bit her lip, looking up at me with big watery eyes.

"Maybe you should just hang out with me more and you might be able to pick up some tips," I said with an over exaggerated wink. "Shut up. Don't cry. You're awesome and eventually your boobs will grow larger and bitches will be dying to fuck you."

Charlie laughed and hit my arm. "Fuck off, you ass!"

"Ow, get your man hands off of me!" I screamed until the creepy art teacher walked up to us and asked us to use our indoor voices or we would have to sit in the closet. It's safe to say we hardly spoke the rest of the period.

x**X**x

Nancy didn't make that big of an effort to get my attention today in statistics, but she did try to strike up conversations with me occasionally which I usually just pretended that I couldn't hear her, explaining that I had gotten into a car accident when I was younger and my hearing has never been the same since. It was absolute bullshit but she seemed to fall for it easily so I went with it until she began screaming her conversations to me and I burst out laughing.

Russian Honors four was fun again with Gabriel and Sam, and they asked if I was free for lunch again, which I was—and actually grateful that they brought it up—except Sam had plans with someone else so Gabe and I would get some alone time to get to know each other better or something.

At once point Mrs. Karolina called on me and asked me to bring a stack of papers over to Ms. Oskova' classroom in which forced me to begrudgingly accept. Sam and Gabriel burst out laughing and told me good luck as I was getting out of my seat and leaving the room. The woman's classroom was downstairs so I didn't have to walk very far, thankfully.

Ms. Oskova was in the middle of the lesson but stopped abruptly when her eyes caught sight of me standing in the doorway with the papers in hand.

"_Privet, molodoy chelovek_!" she cried, exclaiming 'hello, young man!' All eyes were on me suddenly and I decided I didn't like it, so I hurriedly approached her and handed over the papers and turned to leave when she stopped me and asked me a question in Russian.

One question turned into four, and then seven. _What's your name, young man? Wow, your accent is perfect, how long have you been learning Russian? Oh, born in Russia? How profound! Do you tutor? Some of my students could really use a fluent tutor because… So lazy! When did you move…?_ She went on.

At on point during the interrogation, I moved the focus of my eyes from her young face to someone who looked like they were having a good time in the front row. And I'll be damned… It was the boy Charlie ran into earlier and I demanded his apology, but then that piece of shit teacher came over and the prick never did.

A name came to mind… Charlie had mentioned a name—I knew it, just couldn't remember it. D—Dane? Yeah, that was definitely it.

Dane winked at me and held a smug grin. His beefy arms were crossed over the desk and that navy blue tee he was wearing left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I guessed that was the idea.

I shot him a disgusted glare and turned back to the teacher who was staring at me expectantly.

"_Izvinite—chto_?" I asked, apologizing and asking her to repeat the question.

She just chuckled and waved her hand, explaining that she knew I had to get back to my class so she shouldn't bother me any more. Without another glance at the Dane boy, I nodded and walked out of the classroom.

Upon entrance, Sam and Gabe laughed. "Did she fucking talk your ear off?" Gabriel asked and I shot my eyes open and sighed dramatically.

"Yeah, it was torturous. I didn't know it was possible to talk so much," I admitted jokingly. Another question rolled around in my mouth and I was slightly nervous to ask. "Do either of you know of this guy called Dane? Tall, douche-y, looks like straight off the front page of GQ?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he lolled his tongue around in his mouth. "_Dane_?"

Gabriel smiled. "I know plenty of Danes, but none fitting that last description."

"What colour eyes did he have?" Sam asked suddenly and both of us turned to face him.

I searched back in my memory to when he pushed Charlie out of the way and, fuck it was hard but… _I grabbed his wrist and twirled him around like a little ballet dancer and we were face to face…_ There were freckles, straight teeth, and emerald green eyes.

"Green."

Sam slapped the desk. "Aha. You mean Dean. As in, Dean Winchester."

Gabe laughed. "And here's the great part!"

"That would be _my_ tall, douche-y, GQ brother."

Castiel's jaw dropped in shock. "Fuck, you're joking. How can you be related to such a Neanderthal?" I asked, suddenly remembering that this was his brother I was talking to. Sam cocked his head to the side and Gabe continued to laugh. "I mean, you're like, I dunno, a decent human being? And Dean just doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone. As far as I know," I quickly added at the end.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Cassie," Gabe warned, pointing a finger at me as he pulled a workbook out of his book bag.

"I'm not, I'm judging him by how he treated my friend like shit this morning when he bumped into her and acted like we were both garbage," I argued. I sighed. "Look, I'm sorry Sam. I know we just met and this is probably me putting my worst foot forward right now but I met him this morning and he…" I drifted off, not wanting to offend Sam any more.

Sam shrugged. "I mean, he's a little rough around the edges, but Cas, mark my words—Dean will surprise you in ways you have no idea. You may just think I'm saying that to stand up for my juvenile brother but seriously? Dean can be your best friend or your worst nightmare."

"As cliché as that sounds," Gabriel added, knocking Sam in the shoulder. The bell rung and we all got up. Sam smiled and told me he would see me sixth period before he left. I turned to Gabriel who just shook his head. "Those Winchesters… They look out for each other."

x**X**x

I didn't see Gabe until lunch, a whole hour later. We headed to a small sandwich shop and sat down by the window where there weren't too many people walking by.

"So Cassie. What's up?" Gabriel asked as he bit into his sandwich.

A million different sarcastic or frankly asshole-y comments spurred in my mind in under one second, but I ignored everyone of them and settled on, "Not much."

It was quiet then because I hadn't reciprocated the question and I took another bite. "Hey, between you and me, tell me. You into Sam?" Gabriel asked suddenly and I choked on my Dr. Pepper.

"Ah, fuck!" I shouted, jumping out of my seat as I coughed and choked. Gabriel just sat there like the sack of shit he was and laughed his ass off at my hacking form. "Yeah, don't help me," I coughed some more, "don't worry yourself, you cunt."

"My bad man;" Gabriel still had tears in his eyes. "I was kind of worried I might pee if I stood up, no lie."

I rolled my eyes at this and sat back down in my seat to finish my sandwich. Unfortunately I had spilled Dr. Pepper over my sandwich and chips so everything was soggy and shitty.

"Answer the question—don't think your little fiasco won't distract me!" he cried. Wow, I looked around, surveying he area. We must be really obnoxious right now.

"Um, no. I'm not secretly thinking of five ways to fuck him every second," I told him, using a napkin to wipe some soda off my jeans. "Why? Are you on that?" I asked, looking up at him.

Gabriel began laughing. "I love him," he responded, a far off look in his golden eyes. "I wouldn't want to spend my life with him, though. I've known him since we were kids so if I was ever pining over him, it would've gotten out by now," he explained. "Doesn't mean I won't pretend occasionally that we're secret gay lovers to freak people out on the street."

I chuckled, nodding and took another bite. "What about his older brother?" I suggested, suddenly interested in learning more about the douche Dane-Dean from earlier.

"Dean's a homie. Honestly? I would die for that guy. But I may be biased because I grew up with him and Sam. If he were a girl I'd fuck him for sure but he's not; I don't swing that way and I actually have this life long dream to carry on my bloodline," Gabe smiled and ate more.

I swallowed a heavy lump in my throat. "Right. What's he like?"

"Interested?" he asked, cocking an arched brow.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I stated. "What, are you like the town match maker or something? Do I need to transfer to get away from you?"

"No, no. I'm just joking. I mean Sam and I hung out after school. You're bi right? Or completely gay?"

I sucked in a deep breath. "I'm whatever. I'm a man of pleasure," I said sarcastically.

Gabriel chortled. "Yeah, well. To be entirely honest, Dean's not the straightest guy around. Of course, Sam lives with the guy and he doesn't only bring chicks home. That is, when homophobic Bobby ain't around," Gabriel said with both brows raised.

"Bobby?"

"Their mom died when they were small and their dad dropped 'em off at an orphanage where they lived for like, I don't know, couple years until Bobby and Karen Singer adopted them—which was around when I met them because we lived in the same neighborhood. Then, as it worsens, Karen died two years ago and Bobby's been having a hard time. He's made it clear on many occasions that it's not okay for me to provoke Sam and Dean." He rolled his eyes.

"Provoke?" I asked for clarification.

"I make a lot of unnecessary sexual innuendos that Bobby dislikes, you know, 'cause we're all dudes. I've been thrown out of there like at least seven times." He leaned back in his chair now and stretched. "I mean honestly it's all good and fun but he just is really touchy with homosexual things. Pisses me off but he's had a shitty life so I can't really do anything.

"So Sam says he only brings dudes over when Bobby is out for the night," Gabriel says, leaning in and pushing his trash to the side as we got up.

"Does he have some super straight guy appearances he keeps up?" I asked now, curious of what would break his reputation and excited to be able to know it.

Gabriel screwed up his face and shrugged, reaching forward and drinking some of my soda before we left the establishment. "Dean? I wouldn't say so. He's popular, I mean he's up there on that ladder, but he's not exactly notorious for being the high school football star."

I stared at him blankly. We were outside now. "Go on…"

Gabe's face stilled before it relaxed and he smiled. "I dunno, why don't you ask him yourself?"

A sleek old car drove up beside us and I turned around in a one eighty to watch the window roll down.

"Get in losers, we're going shopping!" a girly voice shouted from the backseat, a quote I knew quite well from the movie _Mean Girls_.

A face appeared in the driver's seat and I'll be goddamned. It was Dean fucking Winchester.

"Is that little Ruby?" Gabe asked, placing his hands on his flanks with a wide smile. He approached the car and leaned over so that his head was inside the open window. "Hey, Deano, how's it goin'?"

He reached in and they both clasped hands and shook.

"Just talking about you," he added with a cheeky grin. Fuck me. Thanks a lot.

"Oh yeah? You and the Russian bitch?" he asked nodding past Gabe to where I stood, withdrawn from the conversation with my arms crossed pressed tightly to my chest and a look of utter annoyance on my face.

"That's Cas, man. Just moved here."

A look of confusion and then sudden realization dawned on Dean's scarily perfectly proportioned face (not like I wasn't going to notice something like that) and he looked straight at me. He whispered something to Gabe that I couldn't hear and the golden haired boy chuckled and nodded.

"Haven't even met yet," Gabriel said, shrugging. I looked from Gabriel's face that was now facing me too to Dean's. And fuck, I would be lying if every time I looked at the guy I didn't have a flare of white hot _want_ coil in my belly and I had to remind myself not to stare.

"That case," Dean said, reaching over and opening the door. "Wanna ride?"

I smiled cruelly. "The school is about three blocks away. I think I can manage it," I offered.

Dean's brows rose and he laughed, "Oh, an attitude too, this just gets better by the second."

I rolled my eyes. Gabriel looked at me and then back at Dean. "Maybe another time. Cassie's right. Gotta work off that sub," he said, rubbing his stomach and closing the door. He shot Dean a cute little salute and then walked over to my side. "Seeya sixth period, you ass."

Dean put his beautiful car in gear and the two people in the back started talking loudly when Dean pulled out of the space in front of Gabe and me and drove off—not without shooting me with a hot glare before leaving.

I glared back, but the car was quickly roaring down the street and out of our sight.

"Seems like some tension has formed…?" Gabe observed.

"Do you really want to _go_ right now, Gabe?" I asked, shuffling my shoulders and walking back towards school.

"Jeez, you're touchy. My bad." Gabriel was right behind me then, hurrying to catch up to my fast pace. It was odd how much Dean was reminding me of someone I knew. Someone I was close with for years, yet I couldn't put my finger on it. For fucking sure I knew I would remember a face like his, but I just couldn't.

We headed back to the school and right before the campus grounds began but were stopped by two guys. Both tall, one African American and the other very pale with a menacing grin.

Gabriel groaned loudly. "Zach, Raphael. Can you _not_ today?"

"Not what, Gabriel?" Raphael responded icily.

"Just wanted to meet the new kid," Zach added, crossing his arms over his broad chest, successfully stopping Gabe and me. Gabriel momentarily looked a little worried at two big guys intimidating him. It was really only then that I realized how small he was compared to me. He was by no means tiny, but probably below average five-six.

"Alright," I said, stepping in now. "Nice to meet you both, I'm Castiel Novak. This all cleared up? We're going to be late to class now if you would both excuse us, we'd better get going—"

"Such spunk," Zach commented, crossing his arms. "In a hurry to go suck someone's cock?"

"Yeah," I responded, stepping into his personal space. We were around the same height although his bulk was considerably larger than mine. "In fact, I've got a whole line of dudes waiting for me to suck them off, and I hate to disappoint."

"Ah, funny man. Listen, fag—"

"That's enough, guys," Gabriel stepped in but Raphael walked up to him and broke his personal bubble.

"Nah, I'm not ashamed. It's these cocksuckers who are embarrassed of what they are." The boys glared harder, their fists tensing by their sides. "Maybe if you cut this all out, you'll get your cocks sucked by a dude, too," I said and winked, their totally flabbergasted faces unmoving.

"Shut up, slut!" one demanded. I knew I had the upper hand of this immediately.

"Oh you've never seen a slut until you've seen me," I said, closing in on their personal space now, making them extremely uncomfortable.

"Ugh! Fuck off, faggot!" the pale one said and stepped away due to the raising amounts of testosterone I was emitting. "Gross!"

"Shouldn't piss us off, you faggy piece of shit," Raphael said and they both walked off in the opposite direction of Gabe and me.

I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest and turned to Gabe who looked shell-shocked. "Holy fucking shit, man."

"We fight fear with fear," I said and walked on towards school. In truth, it hurt when people called me a fag. And people say _sticks and stones may break my bones but your words can't hurt me,_ but it's really overrated and sometimes words hurt like a bitch.

But I've learned to hold my own and ignore assholes like them. "Keep calm and carry on, then," Gabriel said as he skipped to meet my longer strides. "I really like you, you know."

"It's mutual," I said, turning to look down slightly at him. Gabriel seemed like he had serious height issues and his face got red when I hovered over him.

"Don't look down at me ever again or you'll have more bullies on your ass."

"My bad, Captain," I said sarcastically and we entered the main building.

x**X**x

It was my second day of current life. Except today, an office aide walked in with a purple slip of paper that had my name on it. I had to contain my excitement at getting a slip to leave this shitty class. Unfortunately, the office aide had to guide me to the office and bring me into my councilor's office since I had never met her before. She was middle aged and Indian.

"Hello, James," she said with a slight Indian accent. "Please take a seat."

I did as told and sat down when she turned to her computer and pulled up a screen. I put my head in my hands when she had mentioned my first name. It usually went like people assumed my name was Castiel because that was what I told them. But when they had my social security information and my class schedule in front of them, they don't generally know to use my middle name.

"I looked at your old transcript and it said you had already accomplished your half semester of current life. You could, if you chose, to continue with a second semester, but I did some more research. You have yet to complete your two semesters of PE."

"I have asthma—" I began.

"James, I've heard many excuses before, but listen to me. I know you don't want to participate, hardly anyone does—PE shouldn't really be required as I agree with you—but if you want to go to a four year college, it's the better choice."

I pursed my lips in thought. I really should be getting in shape, but fuck, it's so _hard_…

"So I'm going to go ahead and switch your schedule so that you have PE fifth period. You have Mr. Richard. Now if you would get along so you don't disturb the class too much…" she said.

"Alright. Thanks, then," I said a little sarcastically. I thought coming to a new school would allow me to escape from the dread of having to work out everyday. I got out of the seat and left the small room and headed towards the old PE building. As I was heading over to the near deserted area of the school, the more there were people in work out clothing. I gulped.

"New?" Mr. Richard asked as he eyed me. He was tall and slim with a bald head and dark eyes.

"Yeah," I muttered. I was standing in front of his class of seniors and juniors.

"Sucks," he mentioned. "Hope you don't still have a full stomach because it's two mile running day." He chewed on a piece of gum. "But you don't have clothes so I guess you'll have to sit this one out today." I shrugged.

Thank God he didn't make me do it in my clothes—well, not that I cared _that _much but it would still be a shame. Because, yet again, I had left the shower this morning to see another box placed neatly on my bed. Today it was a pair of gray slim khakis with a brown leather belt and a denim button down from _Armani_. Fucking _Armani_. It had come with a cardigan but I refused to wear that. An expensive pair of boat shoes that looked fit for a fifty-year-old man came along with the first box but I disregarded them and put on the converse from yesterday. So, yeah, not really work out clothing.

A door slammed and Mr. Richard looked past me. "For fuck's sake, Winchester! Could you take longer looking at yourself in the mirror?"

The whole class shook with laughter and I turned to see Dean leave the boy's locker room, glaring at the teacher. "Your call, Paul," Dean responded rudely and then caught my eye. "We-he-hell if it isn't the little Russian bitch!"

"No derogatory terms, Winchester. Don't make me give you extra laps," the teacher said with a hard glare. "His name's Ja—"

"Castiel," I cut him off. Okay, I wasn't exactly embarrassed of my first name. People used to call me Jimmy in middle school but then I guess people also used that name/word for a dick and then things started getting really messy.

"That's right, Cas." He fixed me with a hard glare. "Couldn't get enough of me at lunch?"

"That's enough. Get in line, Winchester, before I give you a referral for harassing my other students."

"Oh, you're in this class now?" Dean called out, the glare intensifying. He went to the very end of the line and crossed his arms. A short girl—the girl from the backseat of his car earlier, distracted him easily. I immediately wondered who she was and what relation she had to this prick.

He called roll and then they all had to line up for running. There was a track and apparently the boys ran first so the girls headed for the bleachers to sit and I followed behind them and took a seat in the second row. There was a football or soccer field inside of the track and I distantly wondered if Dean played either sport.

Someone sat down next to me and I jumped. "Shit, hello," I said when she looked at me curiously.

"Hey, you're that Castiel guy, right?"

I furrowed my brows at her. "Yes, my name is Castiel," I confirmed.

She giggled and I smiled a little. She was really pretty with her long blonde hair and big brown eyes. "I'm Jo Harvelle. You're new from Florida, right?"

"Uh, yeah. How did you know that?" I asked curiously.

"I have my sources," she giggled. "I'm a friend of Sam Winchester. He told me," she explained.

"Oh." I didn't exactly know how to continue this conversation.

"So have you made any friends yet?" she asked curiously. I crossed my arms over my knees and smirked.

"Yeah," I spoke softly. "I have."

"That's good to hear. I've lived here all my life so I pretty much know everyone around here," she said, flipping her hair, biting her lip. She looked like she had something to say, but I didn't honestly care enough what it was to provoke her to speak more. "Listen… You shouldn't really hang out with Dean Winchester."

I cocked a brow and turned to see her again. She was blushing heavily and not meeting his eyes. "Why?"

"I mean like he's not exactly good news. I saw you talking earlier and well, I guess, his little brother is great—Sam—but Dean took the wrong road in life."

I chewed on my lower lip, soaking this all in. "You're not one of those super religious catholic people?" I asked.

"Oh, no! My mom and I own a bar and we don't exactly follow many morals," she said, raising both brows.

I looked out onto the track and saw one particular person running furiously. His hair was stuck to his face, a dark brown rather than its usual dirty blond. He was wearing a gray tee and black shorts and the sweat was noticeable. He ran past the finishing line and paused to raise his arms over his head. Jo followed my stare.

"See why he is having a hard time getting air? He smokes too much."

"Alright, Negative Nancy. Move over," came a voice behind Jo and me. We both turned at the same time and saw the short black haired girl with an angry look on her face. "That means move, bitch!"

Jo scoffed and got up, turning back to me. "Talk to me anytime!" she called after her. I gave her a half assed wave and then looked back at angry-girl.

"Hey. Sorry, just hate dumb cunts like her spreading bullshit gossip like that; couldn't help but overhear that entire conversation," she said, sitting down next to me. She was wearing a white jersey and a pair of black shorts that looked almost too big for her skinny legs. "Ruby. Nice to meet you, Cas."

"Hi," I responded. I didn't know if I particularly liked her yet.

"Could you _not_ stare at Dean like that?" she asked absentmindedly. I turned and glared at her.

Mr. Richard blew his whistle when the last boy finished and called for the girls to line up. Most of them groaned in protest and the teacher sarcastically mimicked them.

"Ruby! Why do you even come to my class if you don't want to participate?" he shouted to Ruby who didn't move from her spot next to me.

"Because I don't like giving you the satisfaction of watching me suffer while I'm running!" she yelled back.

"Alright, zero then!"

"Fine! Why don't you call my mom while you're at it!" Ruby pressed and Mr. Richard waved his hand at her. "What a pervert," she groaned.

"Yeah, he's _such_ a pervert. Wants you to get exercise and a good grade. What an _ass_."

A very sarcastic new person joined Ruby and me. We both turned at the same time to see a sweaty Dean Winchester. "Do you _want_ to die?" Ruby asked, getting up and landing a hard punch on Dean's pectoral.

"Only by your hands, baby," Dean said seductively and sat down on the other side of me.

"Oh, fuck off. Hey, guess who was talking shit about you?" Dean cocked a brow and leaned over, still breathing a little heavily. "Jo Harvelle."

I was curious to know what their relationship was like suddenly, Jo's and Dean's, but I knew it wasn't the time.

"Why are you sitting so close to me?" I asked.

He turned to me and cocked a sweaty brow and looked into my eyes. His eyes were bright with flecks of yellow in the emerald irises. His pupils were small as to show off more of his beautiful green orbs to me.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Cas," he teased and stood up to lean against a bar that held this section of the bleachers up. "I'm fuckin' wet."

"Maybe you should cut down on the burgers and fries, Tubby," Ruby joked.

"I'm not fat, you slut," he said and pulled his tee all at once over his head. His chest had that same Italian olive colour to it that he shared with his younger brother Sam. No, he was not fat at all, but all lean muscles and lightly visible four pack. He was actually quite glorious as he wasn't extremely bulky and crazy muscled, but toned in a really hot manner.

She reached forward and squeezed his sides and yanked. "Nice love handles."

"I'm so fuckin' done with you, Rubes," he said and shook his head.

"Good. Why don't you take a shower while you're at it, yeah, Stinky?" she asked.

Were these two… Going out?

I hadn't realized I said that out loud.

Ruby laughed loudly and very unfeminine like. "_Nooooo_, I'd—uhh, nooooo."

"Yeah, I don't date ugly, brain dead whores," Dean said with a little purse of his lips, putting his hands on his still naked hips.

"Oh, fuck off!" she cried, slapping his chest.

* * *

_oke enter dean! don`t worry, just 18 more chapters until they have sex! kidding kidding._

_please let me know how you like this so far! you can also pm me; help is very much appreciated here! & i will probably need a beta soon; someone to keep me on track. c:_


	3. All American Reject

okay!** more warnings**... Small smut bit, homophobic language/behavior, obnoxious juvenile rape jokes.

* * *

I headed to my sixth period class. Yeah, I think that's right. I felt a little dazed from being in such close proximity to Dean Winchester. Okay, that came out wrong—I felt dizzy from being so annoyed of him. Yeah, better.

I sat down in the same seat from yesterday and this time saw when Sam entered the classroom and held a hand up as a greeting. I nodded in response and pulled out my cell phone to update my _Tiny Tower_. Okay, so my life isn't that interesting these days.

A soft hand on my shoulder broke me out of my serious gaze on the screen. I already had sixty-four floors in less than two days—perks of being able to use an unknowing and uncaring brother's credit card without hesitation. I looked up and saw a pale face, dark green eyes and long, dark lashes. Thick red hair framed her angelic face and then she smiled at me.

"Hello," she said with a matching angelic voice.

"Hey," I said, trying my best to sound smooth but feeling at loss for words.

Her brows popped up and she smiled at me. "I'm Anna Milton, it's nice to finally meet you, Castiel," she said, a small strawberry hued blush spreading over her cheeks. I smirked.

"A pleasure," I added for consistency.

The bell rang and the class began. She stayed there next to me. Noticing this, the boy that sat there yesterday stalked off toward the back to take a seat there instead. It made me wonder what kind of character she was—whether she was to be feared or loved around here.

She started off with some icebreaker questions like why did I move—possibly the most redundant one in the book—and I answered with short and very careful answers, telling almost straight lies at different points.

"Yeah, my brother got custody of me after my parents died years ago," I told her.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," she responded almost immediately. She had a convinced concerned look in her eyes and I shrugged.

This conversation was starting out the usual way. This was the part where I say, "_No, it's fine. Really. It was ages ago."_ Instead I didn't reply. The teacher gave us the rest of the period off to work on a worksheet with a partner. Sam approached me to ask if I wanted to be his partner, but when he looked past me, he looked a little shocked.

"Oh."

I turned and saw Anna smiling kindly at Sam. "I though I would be partners with him so I could get to know him a little better," she said and Sam made a strangled noise before turning away.

_Awkward._

I didn't ask about it. My name was called for roll call and I hurried raised my hand before he could finish saying my name.

Unfortunately, Anna must've caught it and I blushed.

"Your real name is James?"

I shrugged the question off. "Yeah. But I," I shrugged again, "don't prefer to be called by it. My parents had named both my brothers and I after Angels, so I go by my middle name. It's also an Angel name, but it's nothing that anyone would know right off the bat—nothing from the bible or anything. It's different and I like it," I explained.

"Wow, that's kind of…" she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and I watched with unhitched attraction, "hot."

I blushed again, but this time I felt my lower stomach tighten which gave me the telltale revelation that my cock was waking up. I scoffed, shaking my leg. "It's, uh, it's what it is."

Glancing back at Sam now who was paired up with a short brunette boy, I caught his gaze, which he quickly lowered. Okay, weird. Anna looked down at her paper with a pleasant smile and I couldn't exactly decipher what was going on here.

Thankfully, class ended without too much flirting and I made eyes at Sam to meet him outside the classroom.

As I was getting up, Anna slipped me a small piece of paper before she suspended her expensive looking purse over her shoulder and winked at me as she walked out the door with a brunette girl. I grabbed my notebook and textbook (I get participation credit for bringing it I guess) and left the class to see Sam waiting for me outside.

"Hey," he said gruffly. His arms were crossed and he didn't have that light, puppy air of him like usual. It made me realize that it was something _I _must have done in class to piss him off.

"Why were you glaring at the back of my head earlier?" I asked bluntly.

Sam looked a little out of sorts but shrugged finally and directed me towards the exit of the building. "Like, dude, Anna's weird. I don't know how I feel about her," he said vaguely, rubbing the back of his shaggy head.

_Anna? What did she do?_

I pressed my lips together in a tight line as we were emerged in sunlight and on the main road. Students were getting picked up from parents or grabbing their bikes from the bike racks and heading home. It was kind of weird, as I never really had anyone there waiting for me directly after school to pick me up and take me home and have a snack waiting for me. Well, not since fourth grade in Russia where my dad would bring me my favourite blanket and hold me in his arms as he walked the three blocks it took to get to our home. Both parents were usually at work so even then things were extremely occasional.

Sam stopped walking and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. "Hey. My brother's going to take me home; you need a ride?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I hummed as I thought about it. "Your brother? Big, black Chevy Impala, around '67?"

"Yeah… You've got a good eye, Cas," Sam said kindly and smiled at me in surprise.

"My brother had a similar car;" I said immediately but it was a flat out lie. Crowley had a similar car and he had spent a bunch of time explaining to me about the nooks and crannies of it. I hadn't understood very well last year (nor was I interested) but I listened because his face used to light up in excitement when he went on about his Mustang. "But to answer your question—no. I'd rather not."

Sam laughed and leaned back against the fence. We were walking in the direction of my house but Sam stopped, explaining this spot was usually where Dean usually comes around to pick him up.

Standing in silence wasn't the most foreign thing to me. In fact, I really liked it, especially with Sam. My thoughts were directed back to Gabriel's words earlier at lunch when he asked me—causing me to breathe in my Dr. Pepper and successfully choke—if I wanted in Sam's pants.

I didn't, did I?

A low engine purred close enough where I thought we were about to get run over, but instead it was Sam's older brother in his black beauty of a car. Dean nodded to Sam as he pulled the latch open and slid in, both boys looking expectantly at me before Dean shot me one last glare and pressed the gas pedal.

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. It wasn't extremely hot and my shirt was still rather airy, I supposed thinking about the pros rather than cons of walking home.

x**X**x

"You're late."

"I know that," I responded, setting my notebook down and walking into the foyer.

"Do you have _any_ manners, little brother?" Michael demanded and then Hester entered the room.

I glared at him, shooting him an expert bitchface at that comment. "Don't call me that you douche bag," I growled. Michael set his jaw and turned to see Hester standing in the doorframe with her thin arms crossed and a hard look on her face as if encouraging my brother to punish me.

"Castiel," he cocks his head to the side, trying to keep his calm it seemed. I inhaled deeply and wondered to myself if I wanted to go down this alley. What more could I lose? "What did I tell you about swearing in front of Hester?" he said.

Yep, I'm not doing this. I decided to ignore this bullshit all together and leave the room. However, the second I turned on my heel and went towards the door to the foyer, Michael slammed his newspaper down.

"_Castiel_!" he called after me but I ignored him. What privileges did I even have anymore?

I entered my room seeing as it was expertly cleaned from earlier this morning when I purposefully spilled shaving cream on the floor and hid pillows in different parts of the room.

Well. What do we have here?

On my bed and also on the floor were some boxes. My eyes widened when I saw some things poking out of the top of one of them. My jaw dropped—a metal picture frame with the corner of a photo showing caught my eye and I rushed over to the box and threw it open, yanking the frame out.

It was a picture of Lucifer and I on my first day of school. It was an amateur shot that I took by stretching my arm out in front of us and wrapping my arm around his neck and pulling him close, exclaiming "_Say cheeseburgers_!" before I snapped the shot. It had turned out well; my blue eyes gleaming and a surprised but happy, off guard look on Luce's face.

I pulled out another; someone must have gone through my stuff and sent it to me by now. My heart beat rapidly when I wondered if it was Lucifer. The next frame was a picture of Crowley, Meg Masters, and me; me in the center being half squeezed to death by a very blonde Meg—a look that didn't look particularly good on her but she loved the flamboyancy.

I stared at Crowley's face. He looked young as hell in this photo, his raven black hair spiky in areas but looking generally messy. The corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure, his face increasingly close to mine.

Under the lot of the frames and random items I had used to decorate my old room, my old shitty cell phone was wrapped up in the charger and earphones. I gasped and unwind it, plugging it into the outlet near my bed and waited patiently for it to come alive once again.

The rest of the evening I spent looking through my old messages with my friends from Orlando, replying to the significant amount of text messages exclaiming '_Where are you?'_ Or '_Why aren't you in class?'_ And '_Dude I saw ur brother on tv what the fuck happened?'_

I answered them all truthfully, letting them know that I was okay, safe and sound in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I didn't tell them not to tell others, but I trusted that my story wouldn't get too broadcasted overnight. Sure, I was locked up and unhappy, but I had an odd sense of attachment to the people I've met in the last forty-eight hours.

I hung up the rest of my clothes that didn't fit in my tiny cameo suitcase I brought over just two nights ago in my closet. Although I doubted Michael would let me wear them to school, it was comforting seeing them hanging up in there. The photos I would look at another time, but not keep up in my room.

I didn't come down for dinner, and my brother didn't bug me about it. I put on a pair of gray cargo pants and an old band tee that I had cut the sleeves off of along with an old flannel that I assumed was Lucifer's and curled up in a ball in my bed, falling asleep to the lulling of the missed messages on my old phone.

* * *

"Yeah, I'm going to hit the sack, man."

Sam's tired voice rang out in the small house. Dean nodded absentmindedly but when he realized that Sam couldn't see him, he called back, "All right. Night then, Sammy."

He heard his little brother's heavy footsteps padding up the stairs and down the hall into his room. Dean was laying on his bed feeling strung out and tired after the long day. He had work at the garage that Bobby partly owned with his old friend Rufus Turner. Dean really just came in when he felt like it—sometimes he wouldn't even show up but other times he would ditch periods at school to be there and just work under a car for hours and hours.

Dean rolled to the side and stretched, not sure what he felt like doing. No homework, no plans. He had an odd sense of freedom in that moment.

Finally Dean pulled out his cell phone and his dick made a twinge of interest at the aspect of making a booty call at this hour. It was only nine thirty anyway. Dean tapped the screen, finding tons of names. Most of them were repeats like Christina, which had four different spellings, six Allison's, and eleven Alex's—Dean wasn't entirely sure if they belonged to girls or boys.

But then again, there was just about an equal ratio of boy to girl names. He sighed, thumbing the screen so that the list would go back to the top to give it another glance over, hoping one name would spark his curiosity.

Part of Dean was mad because that blue-eyed boy had made him like this. Castiel, yeah? He'd made him all flustered practically all day. His tight pants made his ass look so delectable—Dean can't count how many times he had walked behind the guy, totally unknowing that he had been walking the same way. That ass was _made_ to be pounded, Dean thought to himself, pressing his thumb to the tip of his cockhead as a bit of precum pearled there. And fuck did he smell good, Dean acknowledged, stroking himself more. He wished they could have done more than just sit next to each other on those beachers.

_Stop it. Right Now._

He opened his eyes, clearing his mind of Castiel, and finally, under the B's, one name caught his attention.

_Brotha, _AKA, Benny.

Dean smirked as he slid his hand that was resting on his toned stomach and made its way under his jeans and boxers. He pressed the name and it began to dial right as Dean palmed himself, emitting a loud moan.

Benny picked up on the second ring. "Yo, Brotha." He certainly lived up to his contact list name.

"Hey Benny. What's up?" Dean inquired, wrapping a warm hand around his half hard cock.

The familiar sound of _Call of Duty_ playing in the background made Dean smirk. He was doing nothing important. "Just playing some video games. Eating ice cream. How about you, man?"

"Bored," Dean answered with a slow drawl.

He could pretty much hear Benny smirking now. "Want to come over? I just got onto this new level and I have more controllers, although you're going to have to use my sister's pink one," he said with a chuckle.

Dean pressed his lips together. "Actually, I was thinking more like you came over here." He paused and the background gun shooting sound stopped too. "Bobby's at the Roadhouse. I was wondering if you wanted to do something."

Subtly was Dean's strong point. "Yeah, I'll be right over."

The call ended and Dean tossed his phone on his bedside table, not forgetting to set an alarm so he didn't get shit from Bobby in the morning. And God, the old coot better not come home. Only once has Dean almost been caught with another dude with their pants down before. Dean made a lame although nonchalant excuse that the guy had lost a bet to him and Dean made him clean his room (all the while Dean deviously pulled up his zipper).

The sound of the sliding door to the backyard brought Dean out of that terrifying memory. It was Benny clearly since Bobby would have came through the front door loudly banging around in his drunken state. He was away trying to swoon Ellen into marrying him or something cheesy. Everyone knew he had the hots for her but Ellen was strong willed and ignored him mostly.

Dean's door opened and Benny snuck in, in the process of taking off his tight dark tee. He had on only a loose pair of jeans with the waistline of his tight boxers visible.

"Hey," Benny said, dipping into the bed and crawling over Dean. It occurred to him that they had actually been doing this more often recently. The first time they tried it out with each other had been almost a year ago, the two of them totally and utterly drunk and horny.

Their lips met and the kiss turned hungry. Dean's hand was still in his jeans but he pulled it out when Benny manually grabbed his wrists and held them above his head to keep him in place. A low whine erupted from Dean's parted lips and Benny lowered down to press their lips together, their tongues swirling in each other's mouth, all the while the bulkier boy tightened his grip on Dean's squirming wrists.

Dean lifted his hips off of the softness of the mattress to create friction against Benny's crotch. The stockier man above him groaned into their intense kiss and pushed his hips against Dean's, applying the most delicious pressure to keep them grinding on each other.

"Benny," Dean moaned on the other boy's lips. "I'm so hard."

The kiss ended but Benny kept his lips on Dean's body, tracing kisses so light that Dean could hardly feel them go down his neck, chest, and stop right before the waistband of his pants.

The button to Dean's jeans popped almost too easily, and hastily Benny was unzipping the blond boy's pants and yanking down tight boxers to allow a hard cock to bounce free.

When Benny's hands wrapped around Dean's length, he couldn't help the long throaty moan that escaped his mouth. He didn't feel anything for Benny, and honestly it didn't bother him so much. Not feeling particularly empathetic for any reason, Dean knotting his fingers into Benny's short but wavy hair and tugged his head closer so that he could feel the brunette boy's breath on his throbbing cock.

After all, this was just a booty call—this night was one of hundreds, there was nothing different. But he'd do anything for a release, right? Dean wouldn't exactly call himself desperate—if he were truly desperate, he would have jerked himself off and be asleep by now.

Benny worked his tight lips around Dean's cock, bobbing his head back and forth as if he possessed some kind of experience, which the brunette boy couldn't help but find annoying. He didn't like it when his partners had others. He was possessive, definitely, and he couldn't explain why. Sure, he'd fucked many girls practically blindly and hadn't given it a second thought, but it bugged him when the people he was fucking had back up plans.

Double standards. Dean had many of those.

"Oh, _fuck_," Dean groaned audibly this time, feeling that rush building up in his lower abdomen. He had started thrusting his hips into Benny's awaiting mouth and _fucking hell _it felt amazing. A small annoying thudding noise caught Dean's attention and he turned, actually opening his eyes now to look at the door. If he had heard correctly, it sounded like footsteps.

Both boys were too wrapped up to take a break and check if it was Sam, because so help him God he would murder that kid for sneaking around—

But it wasn't Sam. _No_, it was much worse.

Bobby appeared in the doorway, his face flushed from no doubt drinking too much and jacket half off but, fuck, that didn't matter. He looked absolutely _enraged_.

The aging man stood in Dean's now open doorway and stared slack-jawed at the two boys before him, one on his knees on the bed hovering over the over. The man could vaguely recognize him have coming over to the house before, unfortunately, the other one was his adopted son, Dean.

The one receiving the oral sex, the one with his hands held together as the bigger male dominated him. And it made Bobby _sick._

A few small words of total and utter surprise left Bobby's lips and slowly his face contorted to one of anger and humiliation.

"You've got about two seconds to explain what the _hell's _going on here!" he screamed. Dean didn't think his face could get any more red.

Benny jumped at the sound of Dean's surrogate father and stood up. He picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it on. As soon as he escaped the lust haze, he shot one terrified look at Dean before squirming past a fuming Bobby standing at Dean's doorframe and running like a _bat out of fucking hell_ out the front door.

Dean couldn't think to feel betrayed, but he knew distantly that there wasn't anything that Benny could have done. Dean was in the pit. Thrown to the dogs.

The scariest part of the whole situation was that when he looked at Bobby—at the man who had taken him in on a whim, fed him, loved him, gave him all sorts of opportunities—all he could see was the anger flushed face of his father when he drank. It was a remote memory, but certain things like that stay with you.

Cringing, Dean stuffed himself back into his pants and a hot blush swept across his face.

"Bobby," he tried out really slow, "look I know this looks bad. Real bad, man, but—"

"You are one sick son of a bitch," Bobby cursed under his breath. Dean looked up, totally and utterly taken aback, and he contracted his eyes to glare at the old man.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, feeling a little offended but didn't say anything.

"Get _out_," Bobby said in a dangerously low tone.

"Can you guys shut up?" the two men heard from down the hall. _Great_, Dean thought, they had woken up Sammy. It was only moments before the curious teen would sneak out of his bedroom to try and eavesdrop on the conversation.

Bobby turns back to Dean with an incredulous look on his face. He furrows his brows. "Your ears fuckin' broken, son?" Bobby hollered, and what with Dean's bedroom window open now, he was sure that Bobby had probably just woken up half the neighborhood with that shout. "I said get the fuck out!"

"Bobby—!" Dean persisted, running a stressed hand through his hair. "I'm not… Gay!" he shouted. Fuck it, he absolutely was and both men knew it. Although, if it would help with his current situation, he didn't give a damn what he had to say to get Bobby to understand that Dean wasn't like that—or rather he was willing to change. To portray to the man that: _I'm not a homo. _

_I'm your son._

"Goddamn it, Dean!" he cried, his face enraged. "I never knew you were one of them cock-suckers. Jesus H Christ boy, I can't even look at you! Leave my house and don't you ever, _never_, come back!"

A small face was now visible behind Bobby down the hall, and Dean—still completely shell shocked—did nothing. Didn't move, just stared past his surrogate father.

"Bobby?" Sam's tired but probing voice asked. "What are you saying, Bobby?" He looked like a child then, rubbing at the corners of his eyes and he had a mixed look of disbelief and confusion. As if, there was something that he just heard but refused to accept that it came out of someone he knows and loves mouth. Dean felt sorry for him.

Bobby turned around and shot Sam the dirtiest glare he could muster. "Go to bed, Sam."

"No," Sam spoke in a determined voice, his face forming one of his infamous bitchfaces. In normal circumstances, Dean would have snorted at how cute he looked with his mouth all scrunched up and his eyes glaring daggers. "What the hell did you just tell Dean?"

Dean was feeling a whirlpool of emotions and he didn't know exactly what he was doing or even the look he was portraying on his face. For fucks sake, he had just been caught by the biggest homophobe in Baton Rouge with his pants down and another guy sucking his cock.

"Sam, I said go to your damn room!" Bobby yelled now, his voice gruff and face red and seething.

"Sammy, just go," Dean said, deflated. He honestly didn't want to argue anymore. He didn't want to be told anything by Bobby at this point. No _you're a faggot _or _get the fuck out of my home. _Because he didn't want to be told it wasn't his home as well any more. Over all, he felt deflated and naturally unnerved.

Sam's eyebrows knitted together and he looked at his older brother in—what even was that—surprise? Anger? The confusion was still there for sure.

"Dean? You're going to let him kick you out of here? Are you—are you serious? And for what, because your _preferences_ are different?" he scoffed.

"_Sam_, goddamn it—!"

"No, Bobby!" Sam screamed, equaling his surrogate father's tone and pitch. "_Fuck_ that." Tears pricked at Dean's eyes. If he felt bad for humiliating Bobby by fucking around with a guy, seeing his brother hurt and furious with distrust for Bobby made Dean's heart ache. It was one of those precious times in Dean's life where things slowed down and he could recognize what family was.

Bobby was not family.

But Sam was gold.

"If you're kicking Dean out, I'm leaving too." He said, pushing past Bobby and walking over to stand by his older brother's side.

Bobby's face fell almost immediately. A pang of jealousy shot white hot inside of Dean at the realization that Bobby felt regret for indirectly kicking out his youngest son.

Not because he realized what he'd said or done to the older brother.

x**X**x

It took over four days to completely move out of the house.

Oh, _you didn't think Bobby was serious_?

Dean could recite every single rule that Bobby Singer had created upon the boys' first entrance to their new home. Of course, mainly because the older mischievous brunette boy had broken every single one of them at least three times. However, the very, very first one that was said very clearly and strictly—as the late teen recalled, Bobby had grabbed an increasingly smaller young aged Dean Winchester and squeezed, looking at Sam too as he spoke—"_I don't fuck around, boys_," in a tired, gruff voice.

It started almost immediately. Bobby had a friend who was living in an apartment complex a couple miles further away from school with two rooms, one bathroom, and kitchen apartment. It was small, that much was true, but it was homey and fully renovated and thankfully not a complete dump.

Bobby had made many different tries to get Sam to change his mind and stay with him, but the younger Winchester would shake his head and say, "We're not talking, Bobby, until you accept who Dean is." And goddamn him because Dean had to turn around so that Sam or Bobby didn't see the sheen of wetness in his eyes when his little brother stood up for him like that.

The days went by in a blur as the brothers settled in to the new apartment. Dean had the fridge stocked with beer and beef jerky and the TV on, distracting him from his depressed thoughts.

Truth be told, Dean was an excellent cook. He had generally been the sole chef for his little brother and Bobby. Sam had made a run to the grocery store—or just left to fuck one of his many new girlfriends—but promised to be back shortly.

The door banged open and the brothers met eyes.

"Hey," Dean acknowledged gruffly, turning his eyes back to the TV screen to watch more of the soccer or football game whatever sport was on. Honestly, he had had a little too much to drink today and he felt pretty hazy.

"Dean," Sam said in that exasperated tone that he always had accompanied by his annoyed bitchface.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked sarcastically, giving his full attention to his brother who set the brown paper bags full of food on the table. Bobby had practically given Sam his credit card when he realized that his favourite son was actually moving out.

"Listen. You—you seriously need to go back to school. You've only shown up two days out of two and a half weeks," he explained, dispelling a long breath of tiredness as he filled the fridge with food. Dean got off the couch and went to help his little brother out in the kitchen.

"Sam, it's fine. You take care of you, and I'll take care of you and me," Dean said and pulled a pan out from the cupboard and set it on the electric stove. He decided a simple stir-fry would be fine for dinner.

Sam, realizing what Dean had in mind to make, pulled out the appropriate vegetables and noodles and meat. "Okay, if that's so, then if you're dropping out, I'm dropping out too."

"Oh my God!" Dean cried exasperatedly. He turned around and glared at his stubborn little brother. "Just because I'm taking some time off, doesn't mean you have to too! I'm not like you, Sammy—I'm a dumbass. You know it, I know it, hell— the entire school knows it. I'm not going _anywhere._ But you are and you still have the opportunity to try."

"Dean if you don't stop putting yourself down and acting like an idiot, I'm going to fight you—really fucking punch you. Right here in this kitchen," Sam said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Already Sam was nearly two inches taller than his older brother and he was nothing if not solid. "I will knock your fucking teeth out, Dean."

This made Dean snort and turn around to turn his attention to the sizzling vegetables. "Alright, alright, you little prick. I'll go to fucking school." He smiled. Although his ways were pretty downright threatening, Dean knew Sam was coming from a good place and only wanted what was in Dean's best interest.

"Anyway. What do you think of Cas?" Sam asked out of the blue. Dean turned slightly to look at his brother. Sam showed no signs of laughter, but serious curiosity.

"Castiel?" Dean mused aloud.

"Yeah. He asked about you."

Dean rolled his eyes but Sam didn't see. He ignored the little jolt of excitement that burst through him at that comment. "He's a little pampered shit is what he is. Thinks he's better than Rubes and me, really pissing me off." Dean finished cooking and put the food onto plates.

"What class do you have with him?" Sam asked, picking up his fork and taking a bite.

Dean glared at his brother. "What makes you think I have a class with him?"

His little brother shrugged and played with a pen on the table. "Just seems like if you hated him so much, you wouldn't go out of your way normally to get to know that he looks down on you and Ruby," Sam answered logically.

"Okay." Dean held his hand up and paused, an extreme bitchface in the works. Sam tried hard not to laugh. He really got his brother started. "What even is his problem anyway? No one fucking talks back to me at this fucking school—not like I'm any fuckin' Mafia Boss or anything—but randomly some little asshole shows up at the beginning of _my_ senior year and starts to fuck everything up? _Seriously?_ I would honestly love to be enlightened about who the hell stuck a six inch thick metal rod up his asshole."

Over the past two weeks, Sam, knew everything of course. The whole getting caught up thing and then getting the boot out of his old life with one brother and new with his eldest brother. He said nothing, however, and let Dean continue to rant his diva ass.

"Okay? He transferred into my PE class earlier last week. Yeah, last time I saw him he was there. He fucking wears bullshit designer brand clothes, acts like a douchebag and all, but Gabe tells me I shouldn't talks shit about him because he's 'going through a hard time'. I'm sorry but what jackass in this world _isn't_ going through a hard time? I refuse to be sympathetic for a prick like him."

"You haven't even had an intelligent conversation with him," Sam offers calmly.

"You're right, I know. But fuck, I just want to do some third grade shit and push him into a pile of mud and sit on him," Dean said stubbornly, glaring down at his food. He honestly didn't know what it was about Cas that riled him up so much. Maybe it was the fact that he got under his skin, the fact that he wasn't afraid like all the others to talk back to him.

Maybe it was because he was so fucking gorgeous that in the five days Dean had seen him at school, he's had a hard time pushing the thoughts of grinding down into the guy out of his head.

"More like you want to sit on his face," Sam muttered jokingly and then burst out laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, Sammy!" Dean cried, reaching over and smacking his brother's chin, completely missing his face. Sam squealed and punched Dean's hand to make him back off.

"Dude, it's true. Admit it. You want to bone him so hard he'll be walking funny for a _month_," Sam said, finishing up his food and taking his plate and fork to the sink to rinse it off.

"No, Sam. Just drop it," Dean grunted, crossing his arms.

"Nuh-uh, man! Dude I bet it turns you on so fucking much when there finally comes a guy that refuses to drop his gaze when you walk by. You've probably jerked off thinking about him _at least_ five times."

"That's enough, Sam," Dean said, pushing his brother out of the way and washing his own plate now. "And if you keep fucking talking about fucking Cas, I'll masturbate in your bed next time," he threatened, although totally and completely sarcastic. Hell no, Dean didn't jerk off to the thought of Cas.

But fuck him; the idea was becoming more and more appetizing by the moment.

"_Dean_! _Ah_—Dean!" Sam mimicked in a high voice. Dean immediately blushed, because the visual of Castiel's pinks lips wide open, face flushed, and eyes squeezed shut as he screamed was just too much.

"Fuck off!" Dean practically sprinted to his room to get away from his laughing hyena-like brother.

* * *

I adjusted my belt. It was hot out today but I wasn't allowed to wear shorts to school. Fucking _logic._

Instead, I had ransacked my closet and snuck on a white tank top under the plaid red button down that Michael or Pester had picked out for me that had three images of a girl's lips licking a blunt, smoking it, and then pouting her lips. When I entered the school, the button down was discarded and pushed into my locker (since I would need to return home with it on) and a pair of dark wash jeans that were rolled up at my ankles.

I had to walk to school now so my armpits were sweaty and my dark hair matted to the back of my neck. I prayed that my first period art class would have the AC on.

I was late. Not so bad, like maybe ten minutes. Charlie was waiting for me and we had a long chat about our bad trips in the past. She told me that once she had been in PE in freshman year and started crying because she hated herself so much and when the teacher tried to console her and take her to the nurse, Charlie had started chanting '_I am sorry Father for I have sinned'_ for at least twenty minutes.

We laughed pretty much the whole period and didn't do any of our project that had a lengthy due date.

It occurred to me a couple hours later though after I had finished eating lunch with Charlie and her really odd friend Garth that Dean had been MIA for almost a complete week now.

Sure, I had noticed his absence in PE, leaving Ruby usually alone and distancing herself from most of the class and occasionally taking a seat next to me but otherwise completely ignoring me. It wasn't so bad; she had good taste in music.

I guess I assumed he was just skipping. Maybe I had been a little annoyed because I selfishly thought he was doing it to get away from me, but of course it couldn't just be because of me. No. If Dean were anything like a man, he wouldn't let one person bug him enough to the point where he found the need to leave.

So when I was changing into my workout clothing for PE, a pair of Lucifer's old shorts that had come in the many boxes a couple days ago and a gray tee that didn't leave too much to the imagination, I looked up to see Dean Winchester gracing the locker room with his presence.

Dean cocked a brow when he stopped a few lockers down from mine and then proceeded to size me up (or perhaps just check out my shirtless torso before I pulled on my tee) and smirked.

"Cas," he acknowledged.

"Our king has returned!" I cried dramatically and a couple of the guys around us turned and began laughing at Dean. His face tinted a small shade of pink and he clenched his jaw.

"Fuck you, Cas," he muttered under his breath.

My shirt was now pulled over my chest and fitted to my torso. "Oh, that's right. I heard you _do_ swing that way," I teased, putting on my deodorant and then tossing the Old Spice back into the locker and closing it.

Dean stripped down his pants and I almost fell into a trance as I watched the jeans slide down Dean's extremely toned olive coloured thighs and then calves. He shook them off and hung them in his locker before turning to me. "See something you like, Cas? Because I'm pretty sure I've heard you swing the _exact_ same way," Dean snarked.

I leaned back against the locker behind me and glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. I vaguely noticed most of the boys in the locker room begin to file out but my attention was on Dean. "Oh and where did you hear that?" I asked, my voice dropping.

"Bela Talbot," Dean answered directly and I felt suddenly taken aback.

"Who the fuck is she?" I demanded, my glare becoming harsher. I couldn't help but watch as Dean slid up his shorts over his (fuck I can't believe I'm admitting this) impressive package. Dean clearly noticed my stupid eyes staring at his crotch and he smirked.

"Bela? Just some dumb bitch I fucked this morning." I didn't doubt him, but hearing this news didn't lighten my view of Dean any. "She said you were some fag from Florida who changed custody in the family and ended up here. It was shitty information but damn is she a good lay," he said, smirking.

Scoffing in annoyance came as easily to me as breathing. I shot him a bitchface and intensified my glare. "You'll do anything to stick your dick in something, huh?" I asked uncrossing my arms and pushing off from the locker I was leaning on. "You are the biggest slut I know, Dean," I snarled.

To my surprise, the fuck actually barked out a laugh. "You know what? Blow me, Cas," Dean said sardonically, his eyes squinted in distaste at me.

"So _fucking_ tempting, babe, but I'd_ rather not_ catch an STD," I spoke icily and pushed with all the force in my shoulder past the stocky man to go down the hall that led to the exit of the locker room. When I escaped the room, I inhaled a deep breath of air. Things felt much less tense out here in the open air. I walked in the direction of the line up yard which I was sure I was totally late for.

"Castiel, line up!" I looked up and saw my bald gym teacher with his clipboard in hand and looking at me like '_Come on man, my job sucks as it is'. _" You're lucky I'm not marking you late!" Mr. Richards called and I hurried my pace to get in line. I felt a little weary after getting so pissed off at Dean. I rubbed a hand over my forehead and refused to turn around and acknowledge the fashionably late Dean Winchester exit the men's locker room with the loud slam of the door.

While everyone lined up to pick teams for soccer, out of the corner of my eye I glanced in Dean's direction. Ruby was standing next to him with her phone in her sleeve, sneakily texting. Dean, on the other hand, had his lips pursed and a far off look in his eyes. I had to tilt my head a little bit so I didn't hurt my head so I could watch him a little longer. My gaze lingered down his chest that slightly peaked through his thin tee, then his long legs. His light leg hair gleamed and I had to wet the inside of my mouth because fuck if hairy guys didn't turn me on. His arms, shit, were tined just as equally as his calves, and looked strong enough to pick Ruby and me up off the ground. Why was I itching to be held by him?

I rolled my shoulders as and suddenly noticed I was standing next to two other boys—we were the only ones not picked. Looking across from me, I saw Dean had a victorious grin on his lips. I sighed deeply and rolled my eyes as Mr. Richard started giving out directions.

"Since the girl team is lacking players, you three boys will go join them. Don't worry, it won't make you any less masculine," he joked.

"Yeah, because Castiel would sure _hate_ that," a boy, Caleb I think, said sarcastically from the boy's team. Dean snorted and a tall African American boy punched his shoulder, also chuckling.

I shot them the iciest glare I could manage and then turned to Mr. Richard with pleading eyes. "Since when are we doing Boys vs Girls? Isn't that a little sexist?" I argued. _Trip. Skin your knees. Please, do something stupid so that you can get out of this _now, my inner wimp urged me.

Paul chuckled and pointed his clipboard towards the group of PE students heading onto the field. Sighing, I expected to just be a goalie or someone who didn't have to move around much so I dropped my hands to my sides and followed.

I tried not to skim through the players, searching for one specific boy on the other team. No, I thought. I'm not desperate. I'm being annoying.

Mr. Richard promised that if we played a good scrimmage, he would cut down our running times... The only problem was, each person was individually scored. Well fuck, if all I had to do was kick other people's shins and skip around to get out of the two mile running day tomorrow (or whenever that slimy bastard was going to surprise us with it), I sure as fuck will do my best.

"We're going to rape you guys," Dean says snarkily to Jo who smirks and shakes his head. A few girls roll their eyes and give Dean a hard time about rape jokes while he just flashes a cocky grin my way.

As it turned out, ignoring Dean was a harder task then I imagined.

The whistle was blown and the ball got thrown onto the field. The girls were fierce and I was more than shocked when a bunch of boys evidently tripped and fell flat onto the ground, eating mounds of dirt. I laughed, even, high-fiving a girl that I thought was called Pam.

I was backing up to get to the opposite side of the field, trying my damnest to get as far away from the ball as I possibly could when I bumped into a hard chest.

"Hey," he grunted.

I jumped away and turned around to glare at him, digging my nails into my elbow to keep myself from blushing. "What the fuck are you doing?" I exclaimed. I wanted to keep my voice down, however, so that the teacher didn't see either of us avoiding playing.

"You're such a prissy little bitch, you know that?" Dean said in annoyance. I scoffed and stepped back purposely on his foot. He didn't scream like I wanted him to, but he groaned deeply and I would be lying if I said I didn't want to hear that again in a very different context.

"You are a fucking cunt," Dean growled low in my ear. I bristled a little and mewled sarcastically.

"Baby, I like it when you talk dirty." I giggled deviously.

"You know what I'm fuckin' thinking about," Dean said darkly right back, "Your—"

"Winchester!" Mr. Richard shouted.

Both our heads flew up and my cheeks head up immensely. Holy shit—where was he going with that? I couldn't stand the fact that Dean didn't get to finish his sentence, and I felt strangely unsatisfied when the PE teacher called for Dean to come sit out for the rest of the game since he couldn't stay focused on the scrimmage. I tried to look unaffected, but every time my eyes skirted towards the sidelines, I saw Dean with his chin resting on his knuckles, watching.

I just wanted him out of my head.

* * *

_allow the sexual tension to commence._

_so updates might start to slow down, i'm busy this weekend and i'm also grounded so all typing will be from the 'family computer' so bare with me guys. i will try my best but in the meantime, make sure to check out my ao3 and my tumblr ficlets—both linked on my profile!_

_please leave a review to let me know how i'm doing! i'm free ballin' this right now and i would die from happiness if i got some support! c: _


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